Becoming Rachel Farmer: Lost Footage from TBG
by Gobsmacked82
Summary: 'The Bodyguard' is an unforgettable movie, shippers, but what is the basis of Frank and Rachel's romance, beyond obvious physical attraction? Here's my take on what Frank and Rachel learn about each other, and how they forged their passionate bond.
1. The Workout

The Workout

Tuesdays always started earlier for Rachel than anyone else in her house. She would unfurl her lanky limbs one by one, then arch her back in a feline stretch and think about the route she would take on her morning run. Today would be no different. It just had to be the same as any other Tuesday, whatever that insufferable know-it-all, controlling, clueless, Frank Farmer thought or said!

For two weeks now, Frank had been busy re-arranging her household according to his standards of safety and security. Rachel did not exactly like the idea of a malevolent killer targeting her for murder, but she felt that Frank was at turns harsh, condescending and unreasonable with his demands and restrictions. She had neglected her Tuesday morning runs since she first gave Bill the green light to hire Frank. But now she was becoming tense and snappish, and even started to speak harder to Fletcher, lovely Fletcher who might reasonably be the best reason for her to safeguard her own life.

Rachel bounded out of bed, then scooted to her bathroom for a basic toilette before changing into her running suit. Rachel walked back into her bedroom, approached her dresser and rummaged through a top drawer. She pulled out a scrunchie, looped it around her wrist, and looking down, began to French twist the back of her hair to keep it out of her face during her run.

RM: He won't be able to keep up with me.

Rachel looked up at the mirror and almost stopped braiding. She was smiling, and it caught her off guard.

RM: What are you smiling about?

Rachel finished the braid and ran down stairs, heading through the butler's pantry, and the kitchen.

RM: Hyacinth!

Hyacinth: Yes, Miss Marron.

RM: I'm running today.

Hyacinth: Yes, Miss. I'll have something ready for you after you return—

Rachel didn't stay long enough to hear Hyacinth say, 'I'll have something prepared for you after you return from your exercise.' Hyacinth had worked for her for three years, was efficient, and anticipated her every need. If only she could program her to deal with Frank! She grabbed the knob on the back door, and pulled it open.

The California morning air was damp and clean from last night's rain. Everything from the garden and stone pavers, to the elaborate palm and imported cactus landscaping smelled freshly scrubbed and sparkling. Rachel began her stretches, and went through them for a few minutes until she saw something that killed her mood.

Frank was slamming the door to his car and began walking toward the back of the house. He looked around him, at the security cameras he had ordered to be installed and the shrubbery that he told the landscaper to cut back. He seemed very businesslike, if almost disinterested in the fact that he was working on a superstar's sprawling pastel estate.

RM: Impossible.

Rachel finished her stretch and prepared to take off, but Frank saw her.

FF: Good morning! (He waved at her and jogged over.) Where are you going?

RM: Running. I do this every Tuesday morning, or used to, until lately. I want to get back to it.

FF: On the grounds here?

RM: Not at all. I run through the neighborhood. (He had better not tell me to use the treadmill, Rachel thought, because that's not going to fly.)

FF: Rachel, you can't go out on your own like that.

RM: This is not a discussion, Frank. I'm doing my morning run as usual.

FF: Well, let me come with you.

RM: You can't keep up.

Frank almost rolls his eyes, then tells her to wait for a few minutes.

RM: Don't delay my warm up. I'm on a certain rhythm here.

So Frank changed his clothes, and jogs over to Rachel. He barely got to within two feet of her before she took off, jogging down the drive, ordering the guard to open the gate, and jogging through the opening.

FF: So how far do you go?

RM: It varies, depending on what I have time for and how I'm feeling.

FF: How long have you been running?

RM: For a few years now, on and off. (Looks at a digital watch, and pushes a few buttons.)

Frank looks bored, like he's trailing a pink track suit Barbie. But Rachel begins to pick up the pace, until she hits a faster stride, and her hips and legs loosening up. They run in silence.

FF: Don't you have a jogging partner at all?

RM: Can't be bothered.

Frank smirks. He wondered if Rachel had had a jogging partner before, but turned that person off with her dismissive, impatient, demanding ways.

RM: Warm up is over. I have to really work out now.

Rachel kicks it up another notch, her legs pumping faster and higher. Frank frowns a little, wondering how far and how long she can keep up that pace.

Back at the house, Nikki makes her way downstairs and greets Hyacinth in the kitchen. Bill walks in with a stack of newspapers and spreads them out on the counter.

Bill: Where is Rachel?

Hyacinth: Running, sir.

Bill and Nikki look at each other.

Nikki: Does he have any idea?

Bill: That Rachel was a varsity, All-American middle distance runner in college? That she dropped the idea of training as an elite runner after her demo landed her an agent? I forgot to mention all of that to Frank.

Nikki: Poor guy. I hope he can keep up.

Back outside, Rachel is outdistancing Frank, and deliberately. She races to a hilly area of her neighborhood, and begins tackling a series of small hills running up some and down others. She glances behind her a couple of times, chuckling to herself as he pants harder and harder. Still, he stays within yards of her.

Back at the house …

Nikki: (Unfolds the L.A. Times and sips a cup of coffee.) How long have they been out?

Hyacinth: 45 minutes. They will be heading back soon. Excuse me, Miss Nikki.

Hyacinth searches a drawer near where Nikki is sitting and pulls out pieces for a place setting. She bustles around the kitchen getting breakfast ready. Bill lends a hand and helps her with a tray of silverware.

Bill: I'll set the table, Hyacinth. I'll also put the papers out there for her.

Nikki: I'll get the fruit, wake Fletcher and pour the juice.

Back outside, Frank and Rachel are heading back. Rachel is sweaty, but mainly glowing, supple, loose and feeling happy. Frank looks like he was in a fight in a swimming pool. They run back to the part of the pool house where Nikki was working out earlier and showed Frank around. Rachel jogs in place, checks her watch and begins to cool down. Frank walks around in circles with his hands on his hip, then rubs his face.

Rachel goes through her cool down and her stretches. Then she takes a bottle of water out of a small refrigerator, takes a sip and leans against the dance rail.

FF: You never told me that you were a runner, that you _are_ a runner. You move like a middle distance runner.

RM: All-American for two years in college. I can't tell you everything, Frank. Especially when you don't even take the time to listen. Sometimes, I have to show you what's going on. (Rachel takes another sip.) Do your stretches, or you'll cramp up. (She throws him a towel, and not very gently. Rachel gets to the door, then stops and looks back at Frank.)

RM: But Hyacinth has probably made a big, nourishing breakfast for all of us, especially me. Check with her when you come back into the house.

Frank nods and wipes his head with the towel.

Rachel walks back to the main house, through a side door. Bill greets her.

Bill: How was your workout, Rachel?

Rachel: Refreshing. I hate going too long without a good run. I'm going upstairs to clean up.

Bill: And how did Frank take it?

Rachel: (Laughs.) He can hang in there with me. Bill, I want you to tell Hyacinth to give Frank a good-sized plate. He's umm, not that big to begin with, and I think I might have burned off 5% of his body fat on the hills.

They both laugh, and Rachel runs up the stairs to her bedroom.


	2. Training Day

On the day that Rachel outdistanced Frank Farmer in her hilly neighborhood, he started to believe that there might be more to celebrities-some of them-than he first thought. If he lasted on this job longer than a month, he thought, he might find out that Miss Rachel Marron was marginally better than the other overly emotional, hard-partying celebrities he has heard his buddies talking about.

It was mainly because of the way she handled herself on this morning's workout. Middle-distance running is serious business. It takes a blend of patient deliberation, and strategic speed to finish a race, much less beat the field. Rachel had just thrashed him, Frank admitted to himself, and he never saw it coming. She was so skinny and indoorsy, or so he thought when he first saw her, all swaddled in that sweater. But when she did get outdoors, something different came over Rachel. She was lithe, supple, and she moved like a gazelle. She almost glided over those hills as if she were a sheet of paper riding an afternoon breeze.

He ate a second breakfast after running three miles behind Rachel and returning to the house. He preferred to chat up Hyacinth, Rachel's Jamaican cook, rather than sit in the breakfast nook with Fletcher and his nanny. Hyacinth had been with Rachel for almost seven years, and after talking to her he realized that both she and Rachel had defied his notions of who they were. Hyacinth was no caricature of an ebullient Caribbean domestic worker. She was efficient, sharp-eyed, and kept most of her comments short and to the point. But she was not sharp or shrewish, and she loosed up a little when Frank questioned her about Rachel.

Hyacinth: She's a nice young lady. Very practical and runs a smooth household. If it weren't for who she was—big time singer and all—I would set her up with my young cousin Errol. But— (Hyacinth pauses and raises her cup of tea to her lips.) She can't very well marry the cook's cousin! Singer or not!

Frank: Well, sometimes in America, Hyacinth …

Hyacinth: I don't want hear that 'love conquers all' stuff. OK? Errol is her accountant. He works in the Marron family office. He's a nice boy, but he's not on her level! A man has to have his own, you know, to get a woman like that. (And with that, Hyacinth firmly slaps the counter.) Maybe that's part of the problem. But don't I want to talk her business. (Hyacinth raises her cup of tea to her lips.) I'm going to miss her.

Frank: Why? Are you leaving?

Hyacinth: Sort of. About a year after I started, Rachel and the family office—a company that Bill set up to run her household and all the money she brings in—well, she had the professionals give seminars in money management. And Miss Marron encouraged me to start a food service business. We're going to provide in-house chefs and catering.

Frank: Congratulations.

Hyacinth: Thank you. I'm almost there. But oh Lord! The classes I had to take. That girl means business.

Frank tried to listen intently as Hyacinth described how Marron Inc. helped her figure out how to manage her money, build credit, get a loan, and get investors—of which Marron Inc. was one. Hyacinth had to turn in a business plan, and when the investment comes in, will have to set up a repayment schedule. He tried to understand how Rachel could be so disciplined about her career and money, yet so lax about her personal safety. How the woman who didn't hesitate to fire a nanny for letting a reporter talk to Fletcher during an ice cream social at a director's house, according to Hyacinth, didn't fix the intercom at the security gate. How could she not be alarmed that someone had been in her house and pleasured himself in her mocked-up bedroom?

Hyacinth: I'll be here one more year until my business gets established. Then I will only cater her parties and such and another cook will be here to cook for her full time. But let me tell you, I want the best for her. Any man who comes here for her, whoever he is, can't just come in here thinking he can pick her up and carry her off. And if he tries any of those typical man games—because they all pay games, Mr. Farmer, I don't care who it is—he will regret it.

Frank: Why is that exactly?

Hyacinth: She will fight him! She's a handful, you hear?! The last one who burned her was Fletcher's father. (Hyacinth looks somber and shakes her head.) And we never heard from him again.

There is a soft, firm knock on the kitchen doorway. Rachel walks through and steps right up to Frank and Hyacinth. She puts down her tea and he sits up straight.

Rachel: So Hyacinth? Are you giving Frank the employee orientation?

Hyacinth: Yes Miss. But nothing out of the lines, Miss.

Rachel: That's fine, Hyacinth. (Turns to Frank.) I don't mind if Marron Inc. employees and contractors get to know each other or me a little better, but whatever is said here stays here.

Frank: (Chuckles.) I'm not dying to tell the world I work for you. As a contractor.

Hyacinth looks taken aback, and moves off.

Rachel: Well, do you have any interest in Harry's Studio? That's where we're going for my Krav Maga lessons.

Frank: (Shakes his head and grins dryly.) What is this for? A movie?

Rachel: A movie audition, for a film about a female spy called "Black Widow." I don't have it. Yet.

At the studio, the instructor is putting Rachel through punishing drills, but she is keeping up without complaints. Frank, Nikki and Bill sit by. Nikki and Bill are looking through a diary, scribbling notes, and Frank watches wordlessly, with growing admiration for Rachel. There are times when he is actually rooting for her, silently. When she escapes a hold, he nods almost imperceptibly. When she snatches a knife he squeezes his fists. When the instructor gets in a few hits, he folds his arms. At a certain point during the session, the instructor calls in another participant, a guy who is bigger than Frank, but not as big as the instructor. Rachel is instructed to fight them both. Frank sits up and watches intently, until Rachel calls a break. She walks over to Frank.

Rachel: Hey.

Frank: Wow. You're working hard.

Rachel: Yeah. It's something else. Would you mind waiting outside for this segment, Frank? I need to focus and get through this last part before heading home. (Rachel rubs her face hard. She looks tired, but she seems set on finishing strong.)

Frank: Not sure why I need to wait out there, but it doesn't make a difference, I guess. I'll just be outside the door.

Rachel: Thanks.

Frank stands outside the studio door and looks outside the window. The afternoon heat is starting to pick up, and he loosens his tie a little. After a few minutes, he hears fighting resume, and Rachel is grunting more strenuously than she was before. But she sounds like she is still in control. Then after a few minutes, Frank hears a few loud punches, a scream and yelling.

Bill: Rachel!

Frank rushes back into the studio and his eyes widen as he sees a body crumpled in the fetal position on the floor. He rushes over and realizes that it's not Rachel. It's her second trainer, and he's writhing around in severe pain.

Frank: What happened? (Frank moves closer to Rachel.) Rachel, what happened here?

Rachel: Nothing. I was doing my job.

Second trainer: She kicked me in my balls and punched me in my face.

Rachel: That's part of the program! It's combat fighting, not a tea party.

Second trainer: (Groans and grunts. Coughs.)

First trainer: I don't think Rachel knew all the rules …

Rachel: How is this on me? If he didn't wear extra gear before showing up, then he was unprepared.

Nikki: Rachel, I think you might have hurt him.

Rachel: I didn't hurt anybody. At least not a real man. (The room goes quiet.) The way it works is that if you show up for a fight class, you wear your gear. Whoever told him he was fighting black-belt Barbie was misinformed.

First trainer: Well, maybe we should stop at this point. (He is kneeling with the second trainer. Holding his shoulder.)

Rachel doesn't even look at the second trainer. She just walks away and gets a towel out of her gym back.

Rachel: I honestly don't know what the big deal is. Why he's rolling around crying like a child. He needs to learn and grow up. Look at Frank. He hung in there this morning racing all over the place, and you didn't see him a crumpled mess. That's because he's a real man.

The whole room goes silent. And with that, Rachel snatches up her gym bag and heads for the door.

Rachel: We're leaving. We're ALL leaving!

During the ride home, Rachel has her sunglasses on and refuses to engage with anyone, especially Bill, who is straining to get her to admit that she was rough on the guy. At long last, Bill gives up as they pull into the house.

Frank stations himself in the carport, talking to the driver. Fletcher is still at school. Rachel is sitting out on the balcony by herself when Nikki walks up, and she is holding a tray.

Nikki: Hey. Can I join you in the penalty box?

Rachel: Suit yourself.

Nikki puts the tray down, then picks up a "rolled cigarette" and a lighter. She offers it to Rachel, who shakes her head.

Nikki: OK. What about a glass of wine?

Rachel: No. I'm cutting back. Madame Yevchenko demands it if she's going to keep me on as her student. Same thing for the cigarettes.

Nikki: Then how about Dad's special recipe mint julep?

Rachel: That's what I'm talking about! Did you make a lot?

Nikki: Just enough for you me and Fletcher. It's a Marron thing!

They laugh together.

Nikki: Rachel. I saw the Krav Maga practice today. It seemed like … like the second trainer was taunting you about something. Trying to get to you.

Rachel is quiet.

Nikki: At least that's what I saw. I could be wrong.

Rachel: He was mouthing off. Just throwing out this and that.

Nikki: About what?

Rachel: You have to SWEAR not to let on, OK? To anyone. I would die.

Nikki: Don't be so dramatic. What did he say?

Rachel: He kept saying 'You think you have a bodyguard?' 'You think I can't get past him?' And then he said: 'He ain't isth!' And that's when I decided to grab his gun, kick him in the balls and punch him in the face.

Nikki: (Stops mid-drag.) So you were defending Frank? I don't believe it!

Rachel: It was jut a reflex, OK? I don't like people popping off at the mouth.

Nikki: OK. Hmmm. Well, I wouldn't blame you. He's kind of cute, don't you think?

Rachel: No. I don't know. I guess he could be, if he weren't so mednad bossy all the time. And cold.

Nikki: He is protecting your life, Rachel. Your life. He's really important. This mad killer … (Nikki gets agitated suddenly and runs her hand through her hair.)

Rachel: Nothing is going to happen, Nikki. He'll keep us all safe.

Nikki: Right. He will. But about this trainer and Frank. It's funny how you held up Frank as the standard. As deserving respect. Is that how you're starting to feel?

Rachel: Nikki, I don't know. The guy is turning my world upside down. It's all I can do not to feel nervous and afraid of people. I love people and they love me. But he's trying to make me afraid of them. I can't live like that.

Nikki: Well, Rachel. Take a sip of Dad's mint julep. (Rachel does, and tells Nikki she got it just right.) Dad was a great guy, wasn't he?

Rachel: The absolute best. We all still miss him, don't we?

Nikki: Yeah. And you know what else? You might not remember this, but Mom and Dad once got into a huge, huge argument over something that Dad messed up. It had to do with the house. But in the middle of all that arguing, not once did Mom ever undercut Dad's manhood. She never told him that he wasn't a man. Guys need that, Rachel. And she did apologize after the fight. They both did.

Rachel: Imagine that! Mom saying 'sorry' to Dad. It was usually the other way around.

Nikki: Yeah it was. She just found a way to drill in her point. And you never know. There might come a day when Frank The Great surprises us and misses something. Or lets you down. He's human, just like Dad was. Even the strong ones at some point will need you to say sorry, Rachel. So you can imagine how much the second trainer, who is not as … bright as Frank … needs it too.

Rachel: Yeah, I guess.

Nikki: (Hugs Rachel. Then sits back down and sips her wine.) So you think Frank is a real man, huh? That is _high_ praise coming from Rachel Marron!

Rachel: Oh, God. Don't start, Nikki. That was a slip. I wonder what Frank thought.

Nikki: He didn't even flinch. Just clenched his jaw. Like 'there she goes again!' What do you think of the brooding, quiet, bodyguard type?

Rachel: I don't think about him at all.

Nikki: Never? Not those sea-blue eyes? Those lips? Never at all?

Rachel: Not one bit, Nikki.

Nikki: (Looks mischievous) Not even that big old gun he's got all the time?

Rachel: (Blushes and covers her face briefly.) Well, not exactly when he's scoffing at me and what I do for a living and how I live and who my friends are. Guys are even starting to flirt less with me, because of that whole wall. Mr. Serious can be a real disapproving buzz kill.

Nikki: True. But then he hasn't really gotten any of that Marron charm yet. I bet if we turned it on, he wouldn't last a minute.

Rachel: (Flinches very slightly.) Go right ahead!

They laugh again and start talking about Fletcher and their late father.


	3. The Decision

At Frank's modest post-modern house somewhere in Los Angeles, Rachel watched her soft flimsy scarf float down from the ceiling where Frank had tossed it upward and hit the sword that she now held pointed at his chest. It grazed the sword with a very faint whisper, but the sound almost drowned out the throbbing in Rachel's ear, the pulsing just beneath the perfect mocha-brown skin of her face.

Frank pulled her close and kissed her, in a surprisingly slow and tender way. And it continued like that for a few minutes, until his rhythm changed. Frank tightened his one-armed hold on Rachel, pulling her up higher and closer to his face. It was a long first kiss, and Rachel was beginning to get light-headed from holding her breath and hearing him breathe heavily in the dark. She opened her eyes, and realized Frank was walking her backward. He saw her too.

Frank: We're going over there.  
Rachel: OK.

Frank undoes Rachel's belt, carries her to his room, and puts the sword on his dresser somewhere. They hold each other carefully, undressing each other. Every time Frank gets Rachel in his arms, he holds her very close, almost squeezing the wind out of her chest. At length, Rachel begins to feel like she can keep up with Frank, and they alternate pushing each other into the linens and rolling each other around. It's part lovemaking and part feeding, equal parts giving and taking by two people who have been hungry and thirsty for a very long time.

Afterward, Rachel thinks she remembers talking to Frank about feeling safe. But he's caressing her arm as she lays her head on his shoulder, near his heart that she can hear going through steady, unhurried beats. So she can't remember what he said or the fact that he looked almost as regretful as he was satiated.

The next morning, they have their fight. Rachel cannot believe they are fighting after he had just totally possessed her scarcely eight hours earlier. Why was he being so cold, and snapping at her like she was a nuisance? They were past all that now, right? She must have done something wrong. Why was he looking at her like there is more he wants to say, more he wants to do, but walking away and telling her to "live with it?" Eventually, she gets dressed and he drives her home. Rachel stares out of the passenger window, and then turns to Frank.

Rachel: You never answered my question. You always tell me what I do wrong. I know that look.  
Frank: Rachel, I don't want to talk about this anymore. And there is no 'look.' Just … just stop losing …  
Rachel: Stop what?! What did I do?!  
Frank: You need to get focused again. On the way things were before. (He glances at her, but doesn't dare take a longer look.)  
Rachel: I know the way things were before. You want to go back to bickering all the time? That makes no sense to me at all. I thought we … connected back there …

Rachel wants to reach over and touch Frank's hand. Stroke Frank's hair, caress his jaw and wipe that hard look off of his face. But he seems to be turning on her, so she slumps back in her seat. Rachel can't help herself, so she touches Frank's forearm, as he's steering the car through the west gate of her property. They never use the west gate, because the area is still being landscaped. She doesn't watch the gate swing open. Rachel just sees Frank point an icy look straight ahead. Almost nine hours earlier, those eyes were like a lush, private lagoon. He had smiled at her, actually laughed and at one point, and she saw that Frank had the broadest, kindest smile she had ever seen. He had been firm with her at one point, holding her down, but at the same time she thought she had tasted the salt of his tears. Now he was instructing her.

Frank: Rachel, we can't be unprofessional about all this. So just pull yourself together, OK? You need to make a decision about … this arrangement. I know what I'm here to do. To protect you. Like I said, that's what you pay me to do. So I need you to get refocused and tell me later what it is that you want.

Frank gets out of the car, and pulls his arm away from her hand, not even looking back. Rachel's hand dropped on the seat with a soft thud. Frank opens Rachel's passenger door, and she gets out. Rachel is completely bewildered, but she takes what Frank is offering, anyway, because it is something. The mansion is hers, one that she designed along with the architect and managed to oversee while cramped in a condo with Nikki and Fletcher, and filming music videos for her first album. But she follows Frank through the large mud room, the pantry, and then the kitchen as if she is experiencing the place for the first time. Hyacinth is not there yet.

Frank: You should go upstairs, and quickly before anyone else starts to wake up.

Rachel turns to walk away, then turns around quickly.

Rachel: Frank?

Frank: Yeah?

Rachel swings her right arm to the left across her chest, and then swings it with catapult force across Frank's face. The stinging backhand slap shocks Frank, who glowers at her for a moment until he remembers that he probably deserved it.

Rachel: Don't ever talk to me again.

Rachel walks to her bedroom. She sits on the bed where Frank had carefully undressed her 150 hours earlier. Rachel closes her eyes for a few minutes and rubs her face. She goes into the backroom, starts the shower and minutes after undressing and stepping in, cries into the stream of hot water hitting her face. Then she turns the water ice cold. If he can handle it, so can she. At least she won't show her face with puffy eyes.

After breakfast, Rachel heads into Fletcher's room to oversee him packing his book bag for school. Then she helps him straighten his clothes.  
Fletcher: Mom.  
Rachel: What is it, baby?  
Fletcher: You're pulling my belt too tight.  
There is a knock on the door. Nikki asks to come in, and Rachel invites her.  
Nikki: We have to hurry if you're going to eat breakfast in time and have the driver get you to school on time, Fletcher. Rachel are you almost done?  
Rachel: Almost, I just need to readjust this.  
Fletcher: Mom?  
Rachel: Yeah, sweetheart?  
Fletcher: Can I ask Frank to fix the motor on my boat later? I think he knows how to help me. He's good at fixing things.  
Rachel laughs dryly and mumbles, something Nikki notices.  
Fletcher: Mom, can I?  
Rachel: No, baby. Not today.  
Fletcher: But it's broken. And Frank knows about boats. He told me he has one, a small one, and he was on a yacht once …  
Rachel: Fletcher, I think you take up too much of Frank's time sometimes. He's not our friend, OK? He works for me. He works here to keep us safe. But he's not our friend.  
Fletcher: But he calls me 'pal.'  
Rachel: Yeah, well he calls me nothing. He's really ishtty to me.  
Nikki, who is picking up Fletcher's backpack, looks up.  
Rachel: And I don't know why.  
Fletcher: But mom! That's not fair! You always get to talk to Frank when he goes places with you, and Aunt Nikki and Mr. Bill and Mr. Sy and even Miss Hyacinth gets to talk to Frank. It's not fair!  
Rachel: Stop it, Fletcher, I told you!

But it's Rachel who stops it. She holds one hand to her forehead and another to her waist, realizing what she sounds like. Who she sounds like.

Rachel: OK. OK, Fletcher, baby, if that's what you want. You can … speak to Mr. Frank. But only for a few minutes, allright? And only after you've done all your homework.  
Fletcher: (Nods) OK mom!  
Nikki puts her hand on Fletcher's shoulder and steers him out the door. She looks back at Rachel, who is holding her hands over her face.  
Nikki: Fletcher, I'll meet you downstairs in a minute. Go on now. I'll catch up.  
She closes the door and walks over to Rachel, putting an arm around her shoulder.  
Nikki: What's going on, Rachel?  
Rachel is a little choked up, undecided as to whether she should tell Nikki what's going on.  
Rachel: I don't know. Maybe later. I'm not sure myself what's happening.  
Nikki: OK. Whenever you're ready to talk. I'm here.

Nikki walks out of Fletcher's room, and crosses a coupe of hallways to take the back stairs to the kitchen. There is Frank, the guy her sister called "a real man," paging through the L.A. Times at the kitchen counter.

Frank: Good morning, Nikki. I'm curious about Rachel's schedule today. When you have a minute, would you let me know?  
Nikki: Sure. (She thinks: There's only one way a guy goes from being a real man to making a woman feel like she's been treated like shit.)

Later that afternoon, Fletcher is by the pool watching Frank fix the motor on his toy boat. That whole scene where Nikki shows Frank the newspaper and tells him about Rachel's Oscar nomination unfolds.

Nikki walks up to Frank the Real Man holding a copy of The Hollywood Reporter, where Rachel's picture looms large among the other nominees. The last time Nikki felt this offended was the day Rachel realized that Fletcher's father, Connor, wasn't sticking around to be a family. The magnitude of Rachel's talent, beauty and potential had hit him, and he saw a meal ticket. Nikki couldn't explain it then, and she couldn't explain it now, but she invited an old friend, a police officer, to Reynold's apartment for a party. Connor always threw interesting parties, and on Rachel's dime, but he never invited Rachel. Weird. It was all for the best that night, anyway. Nikki's friend the straight cop showed up, Connor's backroom antics came to light, and two hours later he was cuffed, locked in the backseat of a police car and on his way out of their lives. Nikki tosses the newspaper down in front of Frank.

Nikki: Ta-daaa! Thought you'd like to know. Everyone said she was a sure thing. But of course you already knew that.  
Frank looks jarred, and glances at Fletcher, who pets Freddie their dog.  
Frank: Nikki, I don't know what you're talking about.  
Nikki: Of course you don't. You walk in, totally in control, rearrange everything to your liking, and then when things get too serious, you bail. (Frank glares at her, and she finally flinches.) I am sorry. That was completely out of line. It's none of my business.

Nikki leaves, then joins the staff from Rachel's management company, who have thrown an impromptu party to celebrate her Oscar nomination. Several copies of "The Hollywood Reporter" are laid out on a table. As people clink champagne glasses, Sy comes up to Rachel.

Sy: Baby, this is all fabulous. This is really going to give you a lot of buzz going into the tour. Make sure you have them eating out of your hands on the next round of interviews, OK?  
Rachel: No, Sy. We need to cut those back. And drastically. Do I have to do the Hollywood Today sit down?  
Sy: Rachel. You can't just back out. It's Hollywood Today. It's their Oscar roundup, and you can't just decide you're not going to do it.  
Rachel: I don't want to do a dog and pony routine with them, Sy. It was hard enough to get out of People.  
Sy: That comes at a price, baby. Anyway, I've saved up something bigger than 'People.' Vanity Fair wants you! For their Hollywood issue. Think you can channel Dorothy Dandridge for me, honey? I've lined up a great stylist to play up your natural old-world elegance and charm. You'll make everyone drool.  
Sy moves into the large office, and somehow starts ranting at Frank. Rachel follows, where Sy is starting to work himself into a frenzy over appearances that Rachel is now questioning. Sy barks at a coupe of staffers, telling them to leave. Rachel leans against the doorway, quietly watching Frank. Bill is in the office, too, trying to speak reasonably to Sy.  
Bill: If he goes, you can forget Miami.  
Sy: She signed a contract …  
Bill: If he goes, she's not singing a note. It's too dangerous.  
Sy: Great! Why don't we let Rachel speak? I'm sure she has something to say about all this.

Frank, with the kind smile, strong arms, and whose kisses hit home. He's not reacting at all to Sy's tantrum, and almost seemed resolved to simply walk out and leave her over an argument with Sy! But he stayed to hear Bill out, and looked so steady. Frank was the eye of the storm in that room, the focus of Sy's ire, Bill's confidence and Rachel's yearning, but he said the least of all of them. He was all quietness and peace. He had to stay.

Rachel: Frank stays.

She stares at Frank, and he stares back. But she's unsure if she's reading professional relief on his part, or something more. Frank and Bill briefly discuss logistics for the Fontainbleu hotel in Miami. Then Frank leaves the office, passing within Rachel's easy grasp.

Rachel: Stick around, Farmer. We might need your vaunted expertise.


	4. Hold My Hand

**Night 1**

Rachel Marron has always been a complex creature, and well aware of her sometimes contradictory nature. She is usually the center of attention at parties, and easily dictates fashion trends from the big city on downward. Yet she comes from an upwardly mobile middle-class family, where going to church and chores are a regular part of Marron life, so when she decides not to be bossy and high-handed, she can adapt quote easily to quiet county settings—much like the cabin where Frank had taken her. She doesn't even resort to snide, pretentious boredom.

So during the week that she, Nikki, Henry and Fletcher spent at the cabin with Frank, she insisted on setting the table for the meals. She didn't quite jump in to help with the cooking—Nikki did that. But she did the napkins in a scalloped pattern that made Frank and his father chuckle. The teasing didn't bother her. They were just segues into stories about Frank's upbringing, anyway.

After dinner on their first night, and a round of chess between Frank and Herb, Rachel decides to let Nikki put Fletcher to bed, so that she can turn in early. Frank leads the way upstairs, and she follows. She can't help but hang onto the back of his sweater as he leads the way. In the hall, Frank shakes his head and laughs slightly.

Rachel: What is it?

Frank: Nothing.

Rachel: Come on and spill it.

Frank: It's the way you're stretching out my sweater like that, Rachel. I know I'm gonna get questions in the morning or at some point from my father.

Rachel: Oh, well. I didn't mean to put you on the spot.

Frank: (Laughs.) No; it's fine. Although ... I don't think he quite believes me when I tell him you're a client.

Rachel: (Winces inwardly at that word.)

Frank: I didn't mean like ...

Rachel: No, I know. I understand. I said I'm a big girl, right?

Frank: Yeah, you are. (Frank nods) And more of a trooper than I thought.

Rachel: Oh my Gosh! A compliment from Frank Farmer? No lecturing, scowling? No shaking your head and disapproving?

Frank: (Quiets his voice and shakes a finger at her.) Hey! Don't start that stuff. I don't think you're silly at all, Rachel. Fletcher is a terrific kid. Really bright and outgoing and he just fits right in wherever he goes. He's a city kid, but I expect him to start tracking elk any minute. And he'll help my Dad figure out how to checkmate me by breakfast, I know it.

They try to laugh quietly.

Rachel: Well, his father was ... is ... a smart guy.

Frank: A lot of who Fletcher is comes from you, Rachel. Give yourself credit.

Rachel: (Puts her hands on her hips playfully.) Well, if you insist! Maybe they have Oscars for the best moms?

Frank: You're a contender for sure. (Smiles and opens a door to a comfortable-looking, but understated bedroom.) This is your room.

Rachel puts her hand on Frank's shoulder and brushes past him as she steps inside. She turns around and looks at him. No guile, no attitude or expectations. Just Rachel in light makeup looking fresh-faced and happy. For a second, Frank thinks Rachel is where she belongs, in a house with him. He can imagine her walking through spaces that they'd set up together. Where they could cook, fuss over Fletcher. They would surely bicker once in a while, over whatever couples bicker about—it's been so long since he knew what that was like. Once in a while, and make up in a tender way.

Rachel: Frank? Is that all?

Frank: Yeah. Sorry. This is the right room. Goodnight, Rachel.

Rachel: (Blows him a kiss.) Good night, Frank. Thank you.

**Night 2**

Rachel decides to put Fletcher to bed herself. Usually, the nanny or Nikki handled this task, because Rachel's recording, performing, touring, filming and press junket schedules, not to mention the "casual, on-the-scene" appearances that Sy always wrangled her into, often kept her away from her son in L.A. She was getting tired of contrived dinners with superficial friends and dates that were as exciting as sleeping pills. These days, she spent more time thinking about her personal life. Maybe starting over again with a nice guy, getting married and having a couple more kids. Frank seemed far superior to all the other guys that she had dated. But she told herself to stop thinking in those terms. He didn't want her as a girlfriend, much less a wife, which he made painfully clear back in Los Angeles. She would just have to wait for the day when his "client" didn't need him anymore, and he could walk out of her life.

After dinner and yet a few more chess moves, Rachel hoists Fletcher up, holding him by both hands. The boy goes limp, playfully giggling and dangling all of his weight from his mother's grasp.

Rachel: Let's go, big guy. You're getting so tall!

Fletcher continues goofing around, to the amusement of everyone else, until Rachel saddles the boy on her right foot and practically tosses him up in the air. Then she catches him and settles him on her hips.

Rachel: I've still got it. Off to bed with you, Fletcher. Say your 'good nights.'

Fletcher: (shrugs) Good night, everybody.

Frank leads them up the stairs, while Fletcher plays with his mother's hair. Rachel softly bites his cheek and playfully threatens to eat him up smothered in his grandfather's ginger mint marmalade sauce.

Frank: (chuckles) That sounds good, actually. Do you make that?

Fletcher: Yeah. Mommy and Aunt Nikki know all of grandpa's recipes. But we can't tell you. You have to be a Marron.

Rachel smacks Fletcher's behind a little, telling him to be polite. Then she jogs with him in her arms down the hall, bouncing him on her hip. Frank watches Rachel drop Fletcher gently on his bed. Mother and son engage in a pillow fight, while Frank watches. Just as Rachel gains the upper hand, Fletcher makes a plea.

Fletcher: Frank! Help me get her!

Frank comes closer to the bed, intending to get Fletcher and Rachel to settle down. Instead ... whap! Rachel nails Frank when he's not looking.

Frank: You don't know what you've started!

Rachel: One woman versus a man and a boy. This is going to suck for both of you.

And so minor mayhem ensues until Frank and Rachel's feet trip each other up. They tumble onto Fletcher's bed together, and before Frank knows it, he is under Rachel, holding her and blushing deeply.

When people find themselves in situations like that, where they are loose and relaxed, they tend to be boiled down to their purest essence. There are no lawyers, reps and publicists with shady interests bending the truth pulling the talented performer in every direction; no death threats; no unnecessary barriers like pride to stop a man and a woman from finally seeing how tightly they are indeed tied together. Frank's face betrays it. Rachel's galloping heart feels it, and they would have let that moment pass without acknowledging it one bit. But there was a child in the room who saw right through them, and was used to speaking his mind. And so he did, starting with Frank.

Fletcher: Frank, I thought you said bodyguards don't react to people. That's what you said. But your face is reacting now.

Frank: Well, I um ... I know what I said, Fletcher. It's still true. Your mother just caught me by surprise.

Fletcher: Well, you look like you like her. You want to marry her!

Neither Rachel nor Frank know what to say, but Rachel speaks first.

Rachel: It's really bedtime, Fletcher. I can't let you stay up any longer. C'mon, let's go brush your teeth.

Fletcher: Momma, if Frank marries you, is he going to have to kiss you and roll you around on the bed and stuff?

Rachel pulls Fletcher over to his luggage, where she rounds up his pajamas and slippers. Fletcher's bathroom is off the hallway, so Rachel carefully walks past Frank to get there, and she avoids touching him or looking at him.

After about 30 minutes, Rachel has answered every one of Fletcher's questions, beat back all of his stall tactics and finally seen him off to bed. She walks downstairs and drops herself on the couch next to Nikki. The sisters make small talk, while the men delve into sports and local politics. Rachel and Frank don't dare look at each other, much less speak to each other.

Rachel: Nikki and I are off to bed, then.

Frank gets up and shows the ladies to their rooms. But when they all get to Rachel's door, she and Nikki go in.

Frank: Nikki, do you want me to walk you to your room?

Nikki: From inside. No, that's OK. I'm fine.

Frank: OK, well it's just down the way here.

Nikki: Yes, Frank. You showed me yesterday, but I'll be staying here for a little longer.

Frank is about to say something else to Nikki, when Rachel speaks up.

Rachel: Frank, you ever had any sisters?

He shakes his head.

Rachel: Well, sometimes we just want to talk, you know? Really unpack all the issues and deal with them. Let me give you your first lesson in dealing with our kind. Good night, Frank and thank you.

And smiling sweetly, Rachel softly and firmly shuts the door on Frank.

_(At this point, I'm going to completely ignore the pass that Nikki made at Frank. It had no redeeming value, whatsoever, from a plot standpoint. Sibling rivalry and jealousy are one thing, but making a pass at your sister's man and then plotting to kill her?! It just didn't sit well with me.)_

In Rachel's room, about 45 minutes later, a nostalgic sleepover is underway. The ladies are changed for bed, sitting on Rachel's bed, and Nikki is finishing up brushing her hair and putting in a single braid. They are laughing softly, talking about Frank.

Nikki: He's really thorough, isn't he?

Rachel: Will you please leave me alone? (She can't stay composed, though, and covers her face, laughing.)

Nikki: The two of you are soo _obvious_ sometimes. Frank has more control, obviously, but you? You might as well be wearing his name on a t-shirt. 'Team Frank!' Sooo ...

Rachel: So what?

Nikki: Are you going to spill? What happened on your casual date to the movies and some ... greasy spoon country wester diner no one's ever heard of.

Rachel bristles a little, at Nikki's description. She knows her sister isn't trying to be offensive, but for some strange reason, she doesn't like the idea of anyone diminishing anything that's important to Frank.

Rachel: (Shrugs) It was nice. Really nice, but it ... didn't really end that well. Actually, he ... we, well.

Nikki: I get the picture. I knew something was up when it seemed like he was letting you flirt with him, then he turned cold, and now he's back to being nice. I'm surprised Fletcher hasn't noticed it. If you're not careful, that boy will start to realize something and either hatch a plan to put you two together, or be horrified and break you up!

Rachel: Actually, I think we accidentally showed Fletcher a glimpse of things this evening.

Nikki: What do you mean?

Rachel: Well, we were in there pillow fighting, all three of us, when Frank and me got a little competitive and tripped over each other. Then I kind of fell on Fletcher's bed and Frank came tumbling after.

Nikki: Say what, now?! And Fletcher saw this? How did he react?

Rachel: I don't know. I can't tell if he's horrified or confused. He really put it to Frank, asking if he wanted to marry me. Telling him his face was reacting. There was a very strange sensation in the room, Nikki.

Nikki: That is extraordinary. Well, time will tell, I guess.

Rachel: I wish we could get you settled, again, Nikki. Don't you ever think about that?

Nikki: Sometimes. More so these days, especially after your show in Miami. While I was on my own out in L.A., I met a guy who writes software for companies. His name is Evan, and he's really smart. Light skin, hazel eyes and tall. He's got his own business, so he works really hard. But he makes time to relax. He surfs and plays volleyball. He's nice.

Rachel: Oh my, Goood! Nikki we have to meet him.

Nikki: In time. We'll talk more about this tomorrow, Rachel. I'm so tired now. I should head back to my room.

Rachel: Just a few more minutes, please. And maybe a tiny song?

Nikki: OK! You twisted my arm. Boss lady!

The sisters laugh, as Nikki shares more details with Rachel about the new guy, Evan. A few more minutes become an hour. At one point, Rachel and Nikki are lying down, facing each other and holding hands. Rachel is already asleep, and Nikki covers her with the blanket. But Rachel's sleeping grip is tight, so Nikki does all this with one hand. Nikki settle back down on her pillow, watching her younger sister, her baby sibling, sleep. They were just like this about eight years earlier, in a hospital room as Rachel slept and waited for labor to be induced so she could deliver Fletcher. She was scared, nervous about whether going through with motherhood was wise, especially at a time when she had given up a college track scholarship to launch her singing career. Fletcher's father had voted with his feet, not quite seeing Rachel's potential yet, nor wanting to be a father.

Their parents were bitterly disappointed in Rachel, and had refused to come to the hospital. Nikki remembers the day that Rachel told her family that she was pregnant, at dinner. That Rachel had given up so much to take a chance on music, only to slip up and get pregnant, well, the news didn't go over well. The Marrons had envisioned their daughter's life taking a tragic turn. Their father's displeasure had hit Rachel especially hard, and it helped make her more determined to succeed and redeem herself in their eyes.

So Nikki came to the hospital with Rachel, stole lemon-lime ice cups for her whenever she couldn't endure the early-labor hunger and thirst, and held her hand through 15 hours of naps, screaming, crying, praying, apologies and finally relief when Fletcher was placed on her bosom. It was Nikki who threatened not to speak to her mother again if she didn't talk their father into seeing Rachel and the new baby.

Two years ago, when Rachel's ego started to get out of control, Nikki thought she hated her ungrateful sister. But it wasn't hate at all. They were both emotionally exhausted after years of striving on several fronts. Making matters worse, they had to deal with vicious entertainment reporters writing off Nikki as the "backup sister," even though she wrote several of Rachel's chart-topping hits. There was the fortune-hunting lazy womanizer who Nikki almost physically threw out of their shared condo before he charmed his way permanently into Rachel's life. The constant demands of touring and promoting albums.

She slid down further onto the bed and thought about the phone booth that she saw as they drove up to the house. Tomorrow morning, she would place another call to that private detective that she had hired to find Connor. Eventually, she'd find him and get him to call off the hit.

Nikki: We'll be fine, Rachel. We'll all be fine.

**Day 7**

The next day, we pick up from the Farmers' cabin up at Lake Tahoe or wherever they were, we're at the night after Frank rescues Fletcher from the bomb on the boat. Nikki is despondent over the events of the day, and Frank finds her sitting alone, drinking and crying. Frank picks up the bottle of liquor sitting next to Nikki, and caps it.

Nikki: So. What did you think about today?

Frank: I think this killer is no amateur. He knows what he's doing.

Nikki: Yes, he does.

Frank: (Turns and looks at Nikki. He instantly figures out that she knows more than she's been letting on.) Tell me about it.

Nikki: He's a professional. He'll get he job done because he was paid to. Paid to and then some.

Frank: He'll keep after her until it's done?

Nikki: Yes. That's the deal. No backing down. But I didn't think he would go after Fletcher. I would never hurt the baby. Oh God!

Frank: Nikki, listen to me. I have to know whatever you know about this guy.

Nikki: I can't … I don't know …

Frank: (shakes her arm) Nikki, I need you to think!

Nikki: I can't think. Only Connor knows who he is.

Frank: Well, who the hell is Connor?

Nikki: My ex-husband. He hired the guy. He hates Rachel even more than me.

Frank: (Sighs, curses and rubs his head.) I need you to find your ex-husband and tell him to get this guy off the job.

Nikki is shaking her head.

Nikki: It's not going to happen, Frank. Connor is gone and I don't know where to find him. And he went to a bar, stoned as usual, and found someone who hired the guy.

Frank: Nikki, there has to be a way …

But Nikki is shaking her head. And she starts telling a story.

Nikki: There is no way! And let me tell you why ... (She sits up and clears her throat.) A year and a half ago, Rachel and I were not friends. We were barely sisters. I was going through my divorce and we were at the lawyer's office. Connor was there. Somehow, he and Rachel started bickering. She was such a bitch to him, really, she was.

_A year and a half ago, in an attorney's office …_

_Rachel: Nikki, just sign the papers and let this guy have it._  
_Connor: Tell your little sister to keep out of it. This is none of her business and never has been._  
_Rachel: But you were more than happy to involve me when you needed a house!_  
_Connor: Hey, who asked you to do that?_  
_Rachel: You did, you free-loading creep!_  
_Nikki: Rachel, stop. This is going nowhere._  
_Rachel: Why are we still here? You should have served him the papers on the job like I told you to. Instead of this kid glove treatment._  
_Connor: Tell your sister to back off, or else._  
_Rachel: Back off or what? (Rachel gets up and starts confronting Connor.) You're gonna give back the car that I bought you? The job I got for you? The connections I made for you? Maybe you'll start taking care of your family yourself instead of leaving it to your little sister-in-law!_  
_Nikki: For goodness sake, Rachel! Just stop it!_  
_Connor gets up and goes nose to nose with Rachel, who doesn't have the sense to be afraid of his menacing brown eyes._  
_Connor: I'm gonna shut that mouth of yours once and for all._  
_Rachel: You and who?_  
_Connor: Just watch me, Rachel._

_Back to the present …_

Frank: Nikki, why didn't you tell me all this before?

Nikki: It seemed like such a long time ago … I'm not saying she deserves all this. Of course she doesn't. She was actually right about Connor and she knew he started to see her as a free ride. But Connor's not the kind of guy you talk to like that. His ego is big, but fragile. And Rachel never learned to respect any guy except our father. Until … (she glances at Frank and sits up in the chair.) Until a few months ago.

Frank: The guy threatens your sister and you thought it would blow over? Is he the one sending the letters?

Nikki: I don't know. He just disappeared. I tried to find him, tried to get a hold of him to call it off. And Rachel's been a different person since then, too. Almost made a 180. We've close now just like we always were. I wish I could just … take it all back.

Nikki begins sobbing again.

Frank: But you said he went to a bar to find this guy? (Nikki nods, wiping away tears.) OK. We'll have to track him down, somehow. We'll find him together, you and me.

Suddenly, Frank hears a disturbing sound, draws his gun, _points it at the floor_, and goes to find out where it's coming from.


	5. Goodbyes

Rachel is terrible at goodbyes. She hates to part with people she has come to cherish. How will she deal with it when Nikki walks away from her?

Chaos tore through the Farmers' cabin. The serenity of nearly a week ripped asunder by an assailant storming through the lower floor and Frank in pursuit. Upstairs, Rachel pressed her hand onto Fletcher's head. The boy was still asleep and hadn't awoken yet, despite the sound of Frank and his father trying to communicate urgently, as quietly as possible.

Rachel looked at Fletcher once more, then kissed his head. She slipped out of his bed and went to the bedroom door. She knows what Frank would tell her if he were here: 'Stay put. Don't move. I need to know where you are at all times.' He had burst in through the door moments earlier, startling Rachel. But that isn't all that concerned her now. Fletcher wouldn't go anywhere. And she felt certain no one could get past Henry upstairs. But earlier she took her turn to put Fletcher to bed, and left Nikki downstairs, where all the commotion was at the moment.

Rachel leaned out of the open door, scanning the hallway for Henry. She caught sight of him just as he was making his way toward her. He confirmed her instinct right away.

Henry: Ms. Marron, Frank wouldn't want you to be out here while all this is going on. Let's get you to stay inside the room here. I'll be watching the hallway.

Rachel: Henry, I'm fine and so is Fletcher. But what about Nikki? I left her downstairs when I came up to put Fletcher to bed. Please go downstairs to check on her and bring her upstairs. Please —

The sound of Nikki screaming, cut short by a gunshot.

Rachel: Oh my God!

She darts out into the hallway and slips past Henry, who catches her and restrains her.

Rachel: Henry! Go back and stay with Fletcher, I'm going to find Nikki. Let me go before I hit you. I will do it!

Rachel trips Henry and shoves him to the ground. Then she runs down the stairs and starts searching the rooms there, looking for Nikki. More gunshots blast through the snowy copse, outside the walls of the house. Rachel stops cold when she sees a slim figure lying in a pool of blood.

Rachel: NIKKI!

This time, Henry catches Rachel and can overpower her.

Henry: Ms. Marron, please! It's not safe down here! I'm bringing you back upstairs.

But Rachel is somehow rooted to the spot. She's not a large, heavy figure, but Henry has a difficult time dragging her away. Rachel has gone limp as the sight of her sister, one half her world, bleeding to death just 20 feet from her.

Rachel: Someone help her. Stop holding me and get someone for her!

Worse for Henry, Frank comes back into the house and gets angry at what he sees.

Frank: Rachel, Henry you two shouldn't be down here! How could you let her slip out, Henry? WHO'S WITH FLETCHER?

Henry, in a bind and quite unfairly, apologizes and quickly decides it would be best if he attended to Fletcher, Herb Farmer looks after Nikki, and Frank handles Rachel.

Frank: Fine! Get up there before he wakes up.

Henry practically flies up the stairs, and jogs down the hallway to Fletcher's room. It's a little late, though, as Fletcher has dressed in his robe and slippers and is standing at the doorway when Henry walks in. Fletcher looks up at Henry, and asks why there is so much noise. Henry answers with the most sympathetic face.

Downstairs, Frank is struggling to restrain Rachel, who is beside herself with anger and worry.

Frank: No! You can't look, Rachel. It's bad.

Rachel: Let me GO, Frank! I need to see her! She's HURT!

But Frank won't let Rachel touch Nikki at all. Meanwhile, Herb has checked Nikki, and has called for help. It turns out that Herb is connected in the community where he lives, and help arrives in minutes. A helicopter ready to airlift her to the nearest trauma center, where a surgeon is already waiting for her.

In minutes, it is decided that Fletcher will stay at the cabin with Henry and Herb. Rachel is adamant about going to the hospital with Nikki, and since Frank goes wherever Rachel does, the two of them step into the helicopter moments after Nikki is placed in.

Rachel leans over and holds Nikki's hand as the paramedics frantically work to sustain her pulse, administer blood and oxygen and stabilize her other functions.

Paramedic 1: Oh my God. She's got a pulse. That's f****** impossible.

Paramedic 2 begins to relay information to the hospital. When they get there, Frank watches the surgeons unload Nikki and rush her into surgery. He and Rachel rush into the hospital, and are ushered into a waiting room so quickly that Rachel barely has time to kiss Nikki's hand before they take her away.

Minutes and hours later, Rachel is sitting across from Frank, who is leaning his head back against the wall, and watches Frank nap. For someone who looms large as a towering figure in her life, Frank isn't that big, Rachel thought. Not slight by any means, but Frank definitely is built on a smaller scale than her other protectors. Watching Frank sleep is heartening, especially because he is always on the alert. Serious. Tense. Now, he does have some peace, and it is beautiful. Rachel gets up, walks around the small coffee table that separates their rows of seats and sits next to Frank. An hour ago, Rachel would have reacted very differently to Frank restraining her. She would have hurled abusive language, tried to slap him, and who knows what else? And she was ashamed at the possibility. All Frank ever did was protect her, really. It is true that he did hurt her that one morning, treating her so coldly after a night of lovemaking that felt like an earthquake.

Frank stirs and realizes that Rachel is sitting next to him. He starts, sits up straight and rubs his face.

Frank: Is there any news?

Rachel: No, not yet. They are still working on her.

Frank nods and says he's going to get something to drink. Right after he gets up, the pangs hit Rachel. The possibility of utter loneliness should she lose Nikki and Frank. Fletcher is an amazing child, but he's not at all a suitable companion for her. She can't tell him her secrets, confide in him about her reservations about Sy, and he certainly can't keep her focused and disciplined like Frank can. What would she do once Frank's assignment ends. Frank returns with two cups of coffee, and places one in front of Rachel.

Frank: Silly me, I forgot to ask if you wanted any. So I got an extra one just in case. (Frank sits next to Rachel.) I should know how you take your coffee. That morning after we … had sex I should have offered you something then.

Had sex? Rachel tried to sigh away her disappointment, tried not to let Frank see her dejection. She really didn't know where she stood with Frank, and the mixed signals created agony and devastation in her. Especially now as Nikki lay on a table surrounded by strangers trying to repair her body save her life. Frank surprises Rachel immensely by wrapping one arm around her, and pulling her close to him.

Frank: Don't worry. Whatever happens, I'll be there to help you get through it. That I can promise you.

The move shocked and delighted Rachel. She squeezed her hands to keep them from shaking as Frank shifted in his chair so that she could lean her weight on him. He was sharing his heart with her again, and she could hear its steady rhythm in his chest. It was the most reassuring sound she had ever heard, sexy and kind just like Frank. Rachel nuzzled into the crook of Frank's neck and couldn't help but smile. She belonged there, and she hoped he felt the same.

More time had passed. How much, Rachel did not know. All she knew was that she never got to speak to Nikki aloud again, not like before. It all whizzed by so quickly that Rachel barely remembered it all. She knew that Frank gently shook her awake, that a doctor sat on the coffee table in front of her and explained her sister's grave condition. There was some quiet pleading on her part, and she was allowed to go into Nikki's room. Frank waited outside as Rachel stood at the side of her sister's bed and held and kissed her hand. She sang quietly to Nikki, choosing the first song they performed together as a duet in church, "Guide Me, Oh Though Great Jehovah." Rachel sobbed through the last few lines, and harshly, the monitors started shrieking. Her time with her sister was finally over.

A nurse, and then a doctor come into the room and begin to attend to Nikki. The nurse gently takes Nikki's hand out of Rachel's, and wraps her arms around her. She walks Rachel over to Frank, who takes Rachel in his arms and holds her. No matter how much Frank wanted to, he couldn't have protected Rachel from this. A murderer had just overwhelmed, outgunned and outrun him, despite all his rigid attention to details. Most of all, as Rachel's sobs shook her in his arms, he felt like he was about to fall into this pit of grief with her. Nikki was weak, not evil. She was swept away by forces that she recognized too late, and had tried but failed to control. He regretted that Nikki didn't survive to help catch this guy, because it would have eased her own heart and soul. It was a real shame. Nikki was someone who meant the world to Rachel, and he realized that as Rachel's heart went, so did his.

Rachel doesn't know how she managed to tell Fletcher the awful news. How she managed to make Nikki's funeral arrangements or put her sister in the ground and walk away from her grave, smelling of a fresh winter's rain.

But she knew that something was welling up in her, and it concerned Frank. How could he do this? How could he put her own life over that of her sister's? Did he even know about all the sacrifices that Nikki had made for her while they were growing up and while she got her singing career started?

After their party came home from the funeral, Rachel skipped the reception. She just couldn't handle a crowd at that moment, and felt that greeting them at the gravesite was quite enough. So there she was, hungry, tired and feeling like Nikki had once again put her life on the line for her. Frank followed her quietly as she started to make her way up the stairs. What startled her was the weight of Frank's hand on her waist.

Frank: (Touches Rachel to get her attention.) Rachel, did you want me to stay up close here or …

Rachel spins around on the stair and slaps his hand away. Then she slaps him twice across the face really hard.

Rachel: I don't want you anywhere! You let this happen to her. You were so focused on keeping everybody's meal ticket alive and kicking that you forgot about the whole point.

Frank: Rachel, come on. I think you should lay down and rest …

Rachel: I don't WANT TO! What is everybody's problem? My sister just died, gunned down like a thief, like some animal, and all you want me to do is take a freakin' nap?!

Frank: No. Of course not. But you're going to excite yourself and make yourself sick. You need to lie down so we can get …

Rachel: Just leave me alone, Frank! I don't know what good you are if you can't see the plain truth. Protecting me means keeping the ones I love ALIVE, FRANK! What is the point to all this shit if I don't have anyone!?

Frank is cool and calm, but visibly stunned as Rachel sits down crying. From downstairs, Hyacinth has paused at a doorway leading to the kitchen suite. She's looking down at a tray of food that she made for Rachel. An assistant appears from behind Hyacinth, walks up the stairs and glances at Frank as she kneels near Rachel.

Michele: Come on, Miss Marron. I'll help you get into bed and Hyacinth will bring you a tray.

Rachel: I can't eat, Michele!

Michele: Just try. You've had nothing all day, and that's not good. Think about Fletcher, who needs his mom to help him understand. I'll help you get upstairs.

Rachel relents, and lets Michele help pick her up. Frank watches them walk the rest of the way upstairs and through the hall to Rachel's room. He turns and walks downstairs, catching a glimpse of Hyacinth.

Hyacinth: I have one of these for you through there, Frank.

Frank: Thanks, but no. I'm not in the mood.

Hyacinth: It's yours, Frank. No one in his house is going to pass out from grief and starvation on my watch.

Frank still feels the sting of Rachel's blow across his face, but he doesn't realize how hurt he actually is until he sees Hyacinth, Fletcher and Bill all looking at him with pure sympathy. He thanks Hyacinth and heads toward the kitchen, where he rubs his eyes before eating a bite.


	6. Too Good for Me

Rachel saw the nurse's mouth moving, knew that she was saying something important, but she couldn't make sense of anything that she was saying. Only when the nurse pressed the cold disk of a stethoscope against Rachel's chest could she begin to focus.

Nurse: Just take a deep breathe for me, sweetie.

Rachel complied, and looked down at the cross she was fingering in her hands, the one that Frank gave her hours before he plucked her from a rowdy mob at Club Mayan. She hadn't let go of it since introducing the nominees along with Clive … what was his last name? And for the … what was the category again? She couldn't even remember. She just knew that fear gripped her as she hallucinated Clive drawing a piece of hate mail out of the Oscar envelope, had chased her off a stage, had pursued her behind the curtains as she lashed out at Frank. How could she lash out at the man who was only trying to warn her about Portman? Who absorbed her horrible treatment and then shed his own blood to keep her safe?

Rachel: (Turns to the nurse.) I'm really … I'm perfectly OK.

The nurse smiles and makes a note on Rachel's chart in a binder. Then she takes a cuff out of its holder and wraps it around Rachel's arm to measure her blood pressure.

Rachel: Can someone please let me go see him? Frank Farmer? He's my bodyguard and he's here, and he took it for me … he jumped right in front of me and … (Rachel puts her head in her hands. The nurse holds Rachel with both hands and rubs her arm.) I have to see him before they put him under.

Nurse: I'm sorry, honey. But he's already in surgery. They rushed him right in and took him up. (The nurse pauses. She wets, then bites her lower lip and leans a little closer to Rachel.) Someone at the nurse's station had the Oscars on TV, while the patients were all quiet and we had just done our rounds. They saw the way he was hit.

Rachel: (Looks at the nurse and straightens up.) What does that mean, 'the way he was hit?'

Nurse: (Holds Rachel's hands.) It means the best thing you can do now is relax and keep a positive outlook on things. Do you know if he has anyone? Is someone coming?

Rachel: His father! A lovely man. His dad should be here. I had Bill call him right away and tell him what happened. And then we arranged for a jet to fly him down. It was hard to get him to take it, though.

Nurse: Well, not everybody gets around quite like that. It was probably a strange experience for him.

Rachel: The studio offered it. They called right after they heard. Everyone's been so great.

Nurse: Well, when you have the biggest name in show business ask a favor for a member of her inner circle …

Rachel: It's not like that! I'm nothing, OK? Frank is the real hero in all this. Everyone saw him jump in front of me. No one ever did anything like that for me. Well, except maybe Nikki. She took a spanking from Mommy once for me, you know. We were visiting our grandparents in Michigan one winter and there was this pond near their house. It gets cold as isht up there in the winder! I talked her into riding our sleds down a hill and across this shallow frozen pond early without anyone to watch us. When Mommy came looking for us and found us, she nearly tanned Nikki's hide for it. And you! You heal people. What do I do? I just sing with a pretty face and pretty gowns, but people like you and Frank actually protect people and keep them safe. Why would anybody pay attention to a little singer anyway? What's the big damned deal?!  
By now the nurse is rubbing Rachel's back and telling her to stay calm.

Rachel: I'll be fine if you just let me see Frank. I'd be so grateful.

Nurse: I'll see what I can manage. You're his boss anyway, so maybe there is something I can arrange.

Hours later, Rachel is dressed in a coordinating night gown, robe and slipper set, and walks into a surgery waiting room, where Frank's father is. He is nodding off in a chair, and Rachel sits next to him, then gently shakes him.

Mr. Farmer: Oh. Hey Rachel. Gosh, what time is it, anyway?

Rachel: Almost nine. I'm hoping that they'll have some news soon. I mean, but only if you want to share it. You're his family.

Mr. Farmer: Rachel, it was really kind of you to send for me to be here with Frank when he wakes up. I know you look up to him, and you're grateful for what he did for you. Of course I'll let you know what the doctors say after his surgery.  
By this time, Rachel is biting her thumbnail and looking straight at Mr. Farmer.

Rachel: Thank you!

Hours after the surgery, Mr. Farmer is in Frank's room watching his son sleep. He takes a look at Frank and walks to the nurse's station. Someone hands him a phone and lets him dial a number. He talks briefly with the person on the other line and goes back to Frank's room. Moments later, Rachel is knocking on Frank's room door softly, and her nurse lets her in.  
Rachel hugs Mr. Farmer and goes over to Frank. She starts a bit, seeing Frank hooked up to a respirator and tubes.

Mr. Farmer: Try not to worry too much about those, really. You have to expect that sort of thing after what he's been through. He took a little longer than they liked to wake up from the anesthesia, and … But as Mr. Farmer speaks, Rachel struggles to focus on his explanations of the doctors' assessments. She instantly feels remorse for having been so hostile toward Frank. Just several months before, he seemed totally in control, calm, and operated with the kind of focus and resolve that Rachel had only seen from the cream of the crop in her business. But he never paid her any mind, unlike most guys. How that burned her up! Now he was lying incapacitated and unaware of his surroundings because of her. Rachel shakes her head.

Mr. Farmer: Oh, listen. There's every expectation that he'll make a full recovery. He'll be back to his old strict and no-nonsense self for sure.  
Rachel looked up. She wondered if he had overheard her and Nikki laughing and talking at the lake house. Did he hear them wonder how such a warm father could have produced such a stern son? Maybe he got it from his mom, they speculated.

Mr. Farmer: He's always had that reputation. Frank was one of the smaller guys in his class at school. We sent him to this fancy private sleep away camp one summer. Even though a lot of the other kids towered over him and were bigger than him. But when we picked him up, you should have heard the stories! He figured out how to be the head counselor's right-hand man, and all those older kids ended up respecting him. Some were even scared of him! (He laughs.) By the time Katherine and me walked him to the car, everybody was saying 'bye Sheriff. They nicknamed him 'sheriff!'

Rachel: That sure sounds like him.

Mr. Farmer: I have to leave now. He's stable, resting comfortably, but it'll be a few days before the doctors relax. We've all done all we can for today. I'm going to head home and come back after breakfast. Good night, Rachel. Don't stay up too long with him. You need your rest, too.

Rachel: Yes, of course. Do you have everything you need … at the hotel?

Mr. Farmer: I sure do.

Rachel: The other offer still stands to stay with the Marrons. We have plenty of room.

Mr. Farmer: Oh no! You're really sweet and I'm grateful, but I wouldn't know what to do in a superstar lady's home like yourself. It's bad enough you're putting me up in a luxury suite. We're simple people, the Farmers. (He winks at Rachel, who laughs lightly.)  
They say good night, and Mr. Farmer admonishes Rachel once again to get her rest. As soon as he's gone, Rachel goes to the side of Frank's bed, finds a chair and sits down close to it. She holds his hand and scans Frank lying motionless on the bed. The sheets are folded neatly over his gown.

Rachel: Well Frank, here we are. You've fulfilled that promise to me. I have loads to tell you when you after you get well, Frank. You won't believe the fight I got into with Sy when he and my assistant dropped off my pajamas. He actually wants to spin this into something with a 'beauty and the beast' sort of angle. Beast meaning that you dominate at what you do, Frank. I know you don't keep up with slang, but we celebrities can't avoid it. I have to know all the new names these little jealous eschbti be calling me. Anyway, we got into it for real, and at one point the nurse threatened to sedate me if I didn't let go of Sy's hair.

Of course, Frank did not respond. Rachel's only conversational companions are the hiss of the respirator and the occasional beeps of the ivy fluid and medications monitor. She holds his hand up, first playing with his fingers and then lacing them with hers before clasping on tight.

Rachel: Well, Sy is good for one thing. Spreading information. He told me that it was … Portman behind the gun, Frank. Your old friend from the service. It seems so unbelievable, Frank. Especially … Rachel takes a deep breathe, feeling that what she has to say now is just as important as when she'll do it again, after he wakes up.

Rachel: Nothing happened that night, Frank. I hate to wonder what you must have thought, seeing us walk into my room together. Portman turned out to be a real pig. Snooping around my room, fiddling with things, asking questions. I should have known. And he tried to get rough with me. I can't believe I was so reckless and spiteful!  
Rachel presses the back of Frank's hand to her forehead and her shoulders slump with despair. She eventually sits up straighter and checks her watch.

Rachel: I'm so sorry I brought this on you, Frank. I don't deserve someone like you, in any way. Your father does. He deserves a son like you to stay near him and watch out for him. Not some attitude-having diva who lures murderous freaks to your house. (Another pause, where Rachel strokes the back of Frank's hand.) I have two more minutes. The nurse is breaking all kinds of rules to let me see you, Frank. I know how you hate that sort of thing, and I don't want to get her into trouble. When you wake up, I'll be around to help in any way I can while you recover. At long, long last I've learned to … I've learned not to treat certain people with disrespect. Good people, like you.

Rachel pauses to smooth the sheet across Frank's chest. Then she turns out the light over his bed, as the nurse asked.

Rachel: But I'm not making any guarantees about Sy. He's taken to calling you Crank Farmer, which is why I snapped and grabbed his hair a couple of hours ago. I'll try to keep my cool next time, because I know hotheads get on your nerves.

Rachel kisses Frank's hand, gently rests it on the sheet to his side, and then she strokes his arm. She kisses his forehead, quietly walks to the door and turns around. Only the light from the hallway illuminates Frank's room now, and Rachel takes another long look before stepping away. Then she pulls the heavy door and watches Frank sleep as the door sweeps the last bit of light from his room and clicks shut.


	7. Beauty and the Beast

**Hello Franchel fans & shippers. Yes, our beauty and our beast need to talk. But before they get into that, Frank and Rachel have to start getting their hearts and houses in order. Call this chapter 'Beauty and the Beast.'**

* * *

Rachel isn't at the hospital when Frank awakes the next morning. Sy barges in, monopolizes Rachel's time, and arranges a string of media interviews and 'on the scene' appearances on the tail end of her Oscars conquest. Rachel complies, but only because she can't get out of the commitments. She feels like the acting job she is putting on during those five days merited the award even more than her winning performance in 'Queen of the Night.' The relentless strobes at the red carpet walks, the TV and magazine interviews are almost excruciating. Only by the daily phone calls that she places to Frank's room to talk to him and find out what he needed make it bearable.

But this morning is different. Today is a blackout date; no interviews or any professional obligations, so she can be at Frank's house overseeing preparations for his homecoming. Then she will pick up Fletcher from school and if Frank is up for it, bring him by for a visit. She stands in Frank's kitchen, as sunlight pours in, unpacking groceries and transferring them to the cabinets and refrigerator. The phone rings in the kitchen, and Rachel watches Herb answer it. They both think it makes more sense for him to stay at Frank's house than the hotel.

Herb: OK, Frank. Thanks for calling. We'll be right there to pick you up. Of course, it's not a problem, are you kidding?

Rachel coolly puts the orange juice, cheeses, wine, produce, lunch meat and other groceries away. She deliberately conceals her glee, and turns her head only very slightly to catch parts of Herb's conversation. Herb hangs up the receiver and turns to Rachel, who is folding the grocery bag and casually looking around for a place to store it. Everything has been put away, but Rachel's mind latches onto one phrase: '_We'll be right there_?'

Herb: Rachel, I know you took the day off to help out. Well, it looks like there is a payoff. Frank is ready to come home today. His doctors just gave him the OK. Do you want to come with me to see him?

Rachel: Of course! I'm thrilled … for you! That's such good news. Can we go now?

Herb: OK, well hold on. After his official discharge. You know, Rachel, they poke and prod them in the morning, then subject them to a parade of scientists in lab suits half the day. Hospitals are horrible places to try to get well!

Herb and Rachel sit through breakfast at Frank's house. Well, Herb sits. Rachel fidgets, checks her watch about three times as Herb reads the newspaper.

Herb: Oh, look at this.

Herb holds up the _L.A. Times_. A story blasting a the headline "Beauty and the Beast" is splattered across the front page of the entertainment section. Right under it, there is a picture of Frank diving in front of Rachel, and a blurb saying, 'Moments after singer-turned-actress Rachel Marron knocks 'em dead them at the Oscars, her hunky bodyguard slays a would-be assassin targeting the beautiful songbird.'

Rachel takes the paper and reads about four paragraphs before she decides not to kill Sy for authorizing quotes. Although the story is built around a shooting at THE L.A. glamour event of the year, and had given her status as an "Academy Award Winning" actress, it went into substantial details about Frank's past as a Secret Service agent, private security consultant (it is Sy's idea to inflate his title), and it hinted at romantic tension between them.

Actually, she doesn't even think about the highlights of the night anymore. The ruined gown, the blood-spattered card with her name announcing her as the winner, or the trophy. In fact, she hadn't even collected the trophy during the acceptance-turned-shooting. Who collected it? Sy had.

But with Frank so seriously injured, Rachel didn't give a second thought to any of those things. What would be the point of all her success if Frank hadn't made it out of surgery? She hadn't even mourned Nikki properly yet. Sy with his relentless push to get her in all the magazines and on all the TV shows.

Rachel wonders what the other newspapers say, but she knows Frank won't like it.

When Herb signals that he's done eating, she whisks away his plate, napkin and mug. While he goes to wash his hands and brush his teeth, she clucks and fusses with the staff. She had asked one of the maids from her own house to come over to clean and organize Frank's house for his homecoming. She ordered a steady stream of fresh flowers, clean 600 thread count sheets, she asked one of Hyacinth's sous chefs to cook and freeze enough meals to last the Farmers a week.

Rachel: (To the sous chef, over a grocery list) These are guys, you hear me? Men! They want stews, pasta, and order up a case of stouts, too.

Finally, Herb reappears with Rachel's jacket. He calmly slips it on her, while she flails around looking for her purse. Her assistant places it in her hand. She tries to put on makeup, but almost gouges her eye with the mascara. Her assistant takes it form her and calmly puts on the mascara, eye shadow and a swath of muted gold lipstick.

Herb: Rachel. You need to settle down. You're worse than I was when Frank's mama went into labor. He's fine and you're beautiful. Now are you ready?

Rachel blushes as Herb holds out his arm for her. She takes it and they walk out to the front door. Paparazzi follow them to the car, as Fletcher's guard clears a path to the back seat. Once they get settled, the champagne colored Cadillac glides through Frank's neighborhood, out onto the freeway and finally within sight of the hospital. There are cameramen waiting for them there, too.

Herb: Does this happen to you a lot?

Rachel: Yeah. It got to the point once where I had to hire a body double to traipse around here in L.A. while I went on vacation to Belize with a boyfr—. With a couple of friends.

Herb smiles pleasantly and gestures that they need to exit. He goes first, and accustomed to holding the door open for a lady, takes Rachel's hand as she steps out. They make their way through the lobby and to the elevators to reach Frank's floor. Once the elevator doors close, Rachel begins to burn with self-consciousness. She wonders if it was the best move to accompany Herb to the hospital. Both father and son are simple guys who shoo away all the pomp and fuss that managed to borough their way into her life. Surely, they'll want to speak alone at some point, and about all the practicalities of Herb staying at Frank's house. Rachel feels her palms grow warm and restless. She begins to fiddle with the loose ends of the scarf tied around her hair, the collars of her trench coat, and the hardware on her designer handbag. What if Frank disapproves of her being there, or becomes embarrassed and uncomfortable? If he feels that way, Rachel thinks, she'll surely die. What Frank think and feels about Rachel matters more to her than anything. She can't go back into a life where Frank has no voice, no say, no impact. She has to know what he thinks, and he has to think highly of her.

The elevator doors slide open with a whisper, and Rachel and Herb begin to navigate the signs on the walls to find Frank's room. Rachel is covered up, so she causes a minimal stir. Then they find Frank's room and walk through the open door. Rachel requested a private room for him, something that she didn't think she would get, considering she was only his boss and not his family.

But when Rachel and Herb enter the room, the threesome falls into a familial pattern. They find Frank out of bed and sitting in a chair, reading. Rachel forgets herself, walks quickly over to Frank and plants a kiss on his cheek. When she pulls back, Herb steps close to Frank and hugs him lightly. Frank is an image of contrasts. His complexion is hearty, hair neat, and face shaven. He is sitting up straight, talking pleasantly and flashing that wide kind smile that makes Rachel's face flush with expectations and hopes. He almost looks like a regular guy, sitting there reading the newspaper, except for obvious fatigue. His left arm and upper body offer the most startling contrast to the picture. He is wrapped in bandages, reminding Rachel of the extraordinary steps he took to absorb the malevolence meant for her. How close he came to not being here at all. He looks up at Rachel, offering her a slight, crooked smile that makes her blush. As usual, he plays it straight.

Frank: Good morning, Rachel.

Rachel: Morning Frank. You can't keep a good man down.

So they fall into conversation about all the tests that Frank took earlier that day, when the results will come back and what they might all mean.

Frank: But aside from this thing (he gestures at his arm in the sling) I'm ready for the next assignment.

The thought of Frank putting himself in danger again aggravates Rachel. She fights the urge to challenge him on the wisdom of going back to body guarding.

At last, they get Frank dressed and ready and leave the hospital. When they get back, they find reporters camped out across the street from Frank's house. Rachel gets nervous, wondering what Frank will think about all of this. She decides to put it out of her mind, until she speaks to Sy. He's obviously responsible for the story angle reporters are spinning on hers and Frank's life. Wait. Do they share a life?

Frank habitually falls into bodyguard mode again, and holds Rachel close as they move through the press gauntlet and through the front doors of his house.

'Please don't be angry,' Rachel thinks, as Frank shakes his right arm out of his jacket and sits on the couch in the living room.

Rachel: Frank, I'll get you some water, OK?

Only Frank, Rachel and Herb are in the house at that point, and because Herb says he needs to run a few errands, including fill a prescription for Frank, soon Rachel and Frank are alone.

Rachel comes close to Frank in his living room and sets down a glass of water on a coaster in front of him on his coffee table.

Frank: Since when do I have coasters? I usually put my glass on a regular plate.

Rachel laughs nervously, like she did when she fumbled into asking Frank out and explains that she assumed everyone used them, and that all his were somehow broken. So she went out and bought him new ones.

Frank: You bought these yourself, or did your assistant do it?

Rachel: Well, I picked out what I thought would go with your place, and asked her to pick it up. Did I go overboard?

Frank: No! Not at all.

By now, Frank has pulled Rachel close to him. His one arm is strong, solid and cradles her to his chest. The move surprises Rachel, considering how stern and distant he can be around her.

For Frank, Rachel's gesture speaks to a natural kindness, with no agenda and it amounts to another gold star in her merit column. He looks around his normally Spartan house and notices that while Rachel hasn't exactly changed anything major, she has brought order and harmony to it. Furniture looks fresher, the kitchen is brighter and stocked with appetizing foods and groceries, which is unusual. Magazines and newspapers are organized perfectly. And she smells great, with her head leaning against his chest and her slim, elegant hand underneath her cheek.

He listens to her breathe against him, and she shakes almost imperceptibly as she talks about the groceries she bought, and the chef and maid rotation. She seems almost as nervous as she was on the night of the Oscars, which endears her to him, actually. That incident feels like it happened years ago, and Rachel seems to have grown so much since then. She's even more capable of leaving her ego at the front door when she returns home—and now to his house—so she can function like a level-headed person. She can be a mother, a sister in mourning, and now lying on his chest ... what was she? Now that the immediate and deadly threat had been vanquished, what was Rachel to Frank? He had to figure that out, and soon, because a lot depended on his answer. He knew that she was too special to ever forget, too interesting to lose touch with, and too important and high-profile to ever fade away. She was a household name, and certainly ran in the same circles of people he worked for. People would always ask him: 'What is she like?' Then Frank's thoughts take a distressing bend. What if people gossiped about her? They wouldn't have the right to, they wouldn't know her, the superior creature who had humbled herself to ask him out, prioritize her son's safety over her pride, and made peace with her sister. She had become an amazing person, but that wouldn't stop them. The thought that a bunch of reckless, gossiping hens—whether they blabbed to a newsstand tabloid or savaged her in hair salons and across kitchen tables excited a protective instinct in Frank again.

Frank stroks Rachel's hair and carefully grabs a handful of it, pulling her head back. Then he kisses her, gently at first and then in long, deep strokes. Before long, Frank and Rachel are kissing heavily and hungrily. Frank pulls her, with his right arm, onto his lap, and they became a slow tornado of clothes falling, hands clutching at each other and bodies moving in tune. Long before Herb returns to the house, they are back in Frank's bed, totally nude except for Frank's shirt. They are vulnerable to each other and ready to talk.


	8. Two Way Love

**Well, shippers/readers. Rachel and Frank have reconnected. But that reconnection raises serious questions about whether or not they are suited to go the distance. Here, in "Two-Way Love," they make some progress toward the answer.**

* * *

Rachel moves away from Frank just enough to unravel the knotted sheets on his bed and straighten them out over both of them.

Rachel: I'm already neglecting my duties.

Frank: (Laughs dryly) Don't worry about that at all.

Instead of being curled up on one side of Frank like she was after their first night together, Rachel rests her back against Frank's chest. One of his arms is propped up on a pillow, and the healthy one is wrapped around Rachel.

Rachel: So … what would your doctor say if he knew about all this, so soon after … ?

Frank: Well, Rachel. My doctor is a guy, and I'm here with you. You probably don't really want to know the answer to that.

And just like that, Frank defuses the situation. Rachel turns her head to look at Frank, whose head is slightly elevated on a pillow.

Rachel: That's too funny. I guess guys are guys, huh, no matter what?

Frank: Usually, yeah.

Rachel shifts around uncomfortably for a moment, as she remembers Portman. The thought that she almost bedded her own assassin—and purely to spite Frank—makes her shudder and sob slightly. She puts her hand in her mouth to stifle a cry and remembers that although they just shared a beautiful moment, she has work ahead of her.

Rachel: Before I ask you what all _this means_, I absolutely need to tell you something. I came to your hospital room the first night that you were there. And I came to tell you some things, some things that I want to tell you again. You were asleep, so you didn't hear me.

Frank: OK, go ahead. But don't shake so much. You can tell me anything, and I won't bite.

Rachel: That night in Miami … in my suite after the concert … I didn't do this with Portman. I feel so horrible about letting you walk around with that impression, and for so many reasons, Frank. I just don't know what my problem is.

It seems like it takes hours for Frank to respond. His heart skips a beat, just one, before resuming its steady, unrushed pace while Rachel listens for him to say something. But Rachel thinks she can guess what that something might be. Even though Frank has been much more tender lately, he's still a serious, level-headed guy. Would he gently, but firmly remind her of how foolish it was to put her life at risk in that way, when there was such a heightened concern for her safety? Maybe he would change his mind about her again, and openly scold her before getting dressed and leaving her there again, open hearted and full of disappointed expectations. It wouldn't be the first time that she was unguarded, and reckless in a relationship. Some might call it vulnerability, but since Rachel usually had the upper hand with her boyfriends, she realized it was something different. Whatever it was, Nikki called it 'the smart girl's mistake' and Rachel made it over and over, no matter what. Minutes pass, and Rachel thinks Frank is taking too long to answer. At last, he speaks.

Frank: I heard you the first time.

What did he say? The first time? Rachel sits up in bed and faces Frank.

Rachel: What does that mean, Frank?

Frank: It means I thought you told me this before. At first, I thought it was a dream, but I kept remembering your voice sounding like it was coming out of a watery tunnel. I was half sedated and half alert when you came into my room—quite shamelessly, I might add—and told me all sort of things. I heard what you said about Portman.

Rachel: Well, so … well. What do you think?

Frank: I'm relieved. He was a treacherous person, Rachel. There is no telling just how far he could have gone to hurt you in your own room, even with everyone right outside.

Here it comes, Rachel thinks. Another cool reprimand about her bad behavior.

Frank: There was so much noise outside. Everyone could have easily assumed that he was your _boyfriend_, because you brought him in there willingly. If things had gotten ugly, how could I have heard your call for help? The circumstances weren't really … the way things looked … your integrity might have gone on trial if things had gotten out of hand in another way.

Rachel reddened deeply after hearing Frank's words. As unfair and backward as they sounded, they represented a harsh realty of life for women. The fact that Frank saw the danger and Rachel didn't made her ashamed again.

Rachel: But is that all?

Frank turns his eyes, now razor sharp and steely directly onto Rachel. For a moment, she flinches and thinks she'll suffer dozens of cuts just by the way he was looking at her.

Frank: I didn't like it at all, Rachel, let's put it that way. I thought you were deliberately trying to make me lose my head, and I thought … I don't want to revisit what I thought it said about you. A lot's happened since then to tell me who you really are. That's the Rachel I want to hang onto, not some chick who would go through with a backstabbing one-night stand that could have ended her life.

This unvarnished honesty knocks Rachel back on her heels. _A backstabbing one-night stand_? Wow. He might as well have called her a wicked minx, even if she did flirt with Portman out of revenge, and even if she had redeemed herself somewhat during their time up north. His sternness really shocks Rachel. She begins to wonder what—should some strange twist of fate allow it—life with Frank would be like. Would he send her into a dizzying spiral every time he kissed her? Make love to her, only to lecture her about being wild and reckless? She wonders if this was some sort of weird bodyguard mind control technique. Take the woman's breath away, and when her defenses are down, just tell her what's wrong with her and her life.

Frank reads Rachel's face and after a few moments, he softens.

Frank: I'm sorry. That was too strong. It's just that when I found out that Portman was the assassin, I almost lost my mind. Back in Miami I was out on that balcony, none the wiser about who he was, and that psychopath could have done anything. He could have slipped you a delayed-acting poison, right before ... whatever. He could have strangled you not 40 feet from me, then slipped out of the party and disappeared.

Rachel: OK, stop, Frank!

Frank: I had more reasons than anyone in this world, except maybe Fletcher, to shoot that m-r dead.

Rachel is sobbing bitterly now. She stumbles out of Frank's bed, balling up his sheets around her slim figure, and shuts herself in his bathroom. Frank hears her sobbing and grabs his head, more out of self-disgust, and hurriedly gets dressed. He walks into the kitchen and gets Rachel something to drink. Then he returns to his bedroom, rests the glass on a coaster on his bureau and knocks on his bathroom door.

After a few minutes of coaxing, Rachel opens the door. She is sitting on the floor next to a box of tissues and looks up at Frank. He steps in, picks up the box of tissues and offers her the crook of his good arm. Rachel silently takes it, and he walks her back to the bed. Then he retrieves the drink and offers it to her. He watches Rachel sip, slowly, as she holds onto the box of tissues

Frank: I'm sorry. Really sorry, without conditions this time, Rachel. No more lectures. I don't know what came over me.

Rachel: Nothing came over you. It's just who you are. (Rachel almost dissolves into tears again before recovering.) I was trained to be a singer, to charm and seduce and soothe. You're trained to kill or be killed. I don't know what that's like, so see life that way. How could I possibly be part of your world?

Frank: People might look at us and wonder 'what the hell?'

Rachel: I mean, I had heard … rumors. Some talk about a kitchen worker who got beat up while we were in Miami. All he did was break a simple rule and pop off at the mouth, and he got his face smashed. Did you … do that?

The trajectory of Rachel's remarks almost makes Frank sick. Rachel looks at him almost warily. Rachel had a way of driving him absolutely insane, unlike any other woman or person or situation he had ever encountered. She could also wear him out in more ways than one.

Frank: I guess. I suppose I used unnecessary brute force on that guy, and … hated Portman just a little too much.

Rachel: And I don't live off hate and violence and guns and fists. I sing love songs. Silly, sugary, slick-produced love songs with no trace of grit and just a sprinkling of soul. The critics hate it, but it's just the sort of stuff that overly romantic girls with no sense of danger will eat up.

Frank: I suppose some people would say that. I'm into Johnny Cash myself.

Rachel notices that Frank hasn't stopped holding her hand since she sat down. And he's so warm and strong. Minutes pass without them saying anything, until Frank breaks the silence.

Frank: Did you buy this? What is it?

Rachel: It's a tissue box cover. You just put your box of tissues in it, so it looks nice and the box doesn't get crushed.

Frank: It's got a bamboo design on it. I like it.

Rachel: Oh, thanks. I figured bamboo would go with the décor that you have here.

Frank: Rachel. (He strokes her arm with such sympathy that Rachel starts crying again.) I don't know what the hell the word 'décor' is supposed to mean. But I do know that you're an incredible, rare woman.

Rachel: Really?! You don't think I'm a flaky tart?

Frank: NO! Listen, I'm not clever enough to write songs and books and plays about you. All I can do is apply my brute force.

Rachel: Frank, come on. You are more than what you do. Aside from David Fletcher Marron, you're the greatest guy I know. I don't care what happens between us, it's just the truth.

A crooked grin spreads across Frank's face, as he lowers his head and licks his lips.

Frank: So then I should tell you that I'm in love with you.

Rachel gasps and throws the box of tissues aside.

Rachel: What? Say that again!

Frank: Rachel, I love you. You're an incredible woman.

Rachel pulls Frank's shirt collars toward her and kisses him, trying to suppress a laugh the entire time.

Rachel: I love you, too! (Then she lets him go and rests her arms on his shoulders.) Isn't that amazing?

They kiss for a few more minutes, until Frank almost collapses on top of Rachel. They both realize that they're in danger of being utterly reckless with his health. So Rachel gets dressed and retrieves a fresh sheet for Frank. Then she digs through the duffel bag of his stuff from the hospital and gets him the medication that the hospital gave him before sending him home. She settles him into bed and gently kisses him until he falls asleep.


	9. Higher Calling

**This is the end of the 'lost scenes,' shippers and readers. Whew! That was hard work digging them up and getting them in presentable condition for you. Do love stories always have happy endings? No. Sometimes it's about the ride ...**

* * *

After Frank and Rachel declare their mutual love for each other, they kick off three weeks of perfection as a couple. It starts with Rachel showering, dressing and going home to change her clothes and get Fletcher from school.

He had actually seen the televised Oscars ceremony, and watched in horror as Frank was shot saving his mother. On top of everything else that Rachel was worried about, she now had to wonder how all these events affected her son's sense of safety, grief and loss. He loved Nikki, and thinks the world of Frank. To lose his precious aunt was hard enough. To witness his hero severely injured while his mother almost lost hers was another emotional challenge. If Frank hadn't saved Rachel, Fletcher might have been packed off to her snobby first cousins in an old-money neighborhood in New Jersey. They are worse than Frank on his brooding, scowling days, because their consternation was rooted in devout Christian beliefs. They scorn Rachel's provocative song lyrics and costumes that Aunt Stacey call "tarted up." At least Rachel's parents had made the effort to get to know Fletcher before they died. Once her two-week old son stuck his tongue out at his grandfather, David Fletcher Marron, the rock of a man was a goner. Losing Rachel would have completed the recessional of loving, warm and joyful people from Fletcher's life, leaving him very lonely, Rachel thought.

As Rachel races through her house, she smiles broadly. Everyone who greets her smiles back and nods. It has been a while since she's seen that kind of reaction from people, felt that joyous mood in her home.

After she picks up Fletcher from school, they head straight to Frank's house. Frank has agreed to let Fletcher visit as long as he wants, provided that he does his homework. If necessary, he can eat dinner there, too.

It becomes necessary to eat dinner there. Fletcher gives Frank a hearty high five as soon as he sees him, and over the next several hours, he asks Frank lots of questions. He wants to know about the injuries, what the medical staff at the hospital did to help him. He asks lots of questions about Portman, especially.

"Did you know the guy, Frank?"

"Yeah, a long time ago."

"Was he a bad guy when you knew him?"

"Not that I remember. He always seemed OK."

The questions would have continued, except Rachel interferes and reminds Fletcher about his homework.

"A deal is a deal, baby boy. You finish that math and geography, and then you can talk to Frank."

Fletcher sets to doing his work, a little too briskly at first. Then Frank implores him to slow down and do it right. After 45 minutes, Frank is checking his math and geography. After homework, Fletcher innocently interrogates Frank about Portman, over a game of checkers. Meanwhile, Rachel is clattering around in the kitchen, helping Herb make dinner. Well, she is mostly taking rudimentary cooking instructions from Herb, like: 'put the water in the pot. Put the pot on a medium to high flame,' and Rachel eagerly chirping, 'Right! You bet.'

Although the kitchen is not close to the living room, Frank and Fletcher's conversation is still audible.

"Well, was this the guy who broke into your father's house at the lake?"

"Yeah, he was, Fletcher."

"And is he the one who hurt Aunt Nikki?"

"We think it was him, yes," says Frank. He watches as Fletcher lowers his head and blinks a few times. "What do you think about that, Fletcher?"

"I hate him."

"You shouldn't hate anyone, Fletcher," but Frank remembers his own feelings toward Portman, which stem from his motive to protect Rachel and complicated by a near-blinding jealousy. "But it's OK to feel bad that your aunt Nikki passed away. She was really nice to you, wasn't she?"

Fletcher captures a checker piece from Frank, puts it down and nods. Then he heaves a big breath, and hot tears overwhelm his face. He tries to push them away with his fists, but he can't hide the torrent.

Rachel steps in again, mainly because seeing Fletcher cry makes her want to die, and she is plain uncomfortable with any talk about Portman.

"Oh, Fletcher," and she maneuvers Fletcher's chair to face her as she kneels down in front of him. "You want to lay down or something?"

Frank grabs a tissue and dabs Fletcher's face. He glances at Rachel and leans his elbow on his knee.

"What about Aunt Nikki, Fletcher? What are the nice things that she did for you?"

"She helped be get my school uniform together."

"Wow. That was cool. And what else?"

"She helped me clean my room, 'cause mom-mommy doesn't like it when it gets dirty."

Frank hides a smile, and shoots a look at Rachel.

"Anything else?"

"And there was this one time that this kid Ralph at school kept pushing me and calling me 'little punk.' And she showed me how to hit him with a right cross!"

"Aunt Nikki did _that_?" Rachel and Frank say in unison.

"Yeah, she said 'Do this, Fletcher …"

Rachel realizes that she needs to attend to the food, and leaves Fletcher with Frank. The little boy has fallen into telling Frank wonderful stories about his aunt, anyway, so it seemed like their moment.

"And I went like this, Frank! And I creamed him!"

Fletcher, Rachel and Frank fall into an easy pattern of making sure 'Fletcher is OK.' It lasts for several days, until Frank and Rachel start taking walks, and then jogs, around his neighborhood. Until they start to make small excursions to local restaurants, not too much to tax his recovery. Until the day Herb Farmer hugs his son goodbye after two weeks, and heads home.

After that, the reality of the workings of the outside world sets in. It starts at the supermarket, while Frank and Rachel are picking up snacks for Fletcher. In the checkout line, Frank spots a photo spread in a tabloid. In one small column inch and four decent color photos, it tells the story of Frank watching Fletcher and Rachel at the park; spotting a paparazzi; ripping off his sunglasses while yelling at the cameraman; and pursuing the offending journalist. The 'Beast' Protects his 'Family' is the headline, and it quotes a "witness at the park," who said "the three looked like a little family, oblivious to everyone else and focused on each other."

One day, Frank is at home writing out bills, while Fletcher and Rachel were out. The phone rings—and by then it has taken on a shrill, braying noise—and brings him to the kitchen. He lifts the receiver out of the base, and is immediately accosted by a male reporter asking questions about his and Rachel's sex life. Specifically, reports that the neighborhood watch association once sent a representative around asking them to keep it down.

Disgusted and enraged, Frank lets the reporter have it.

"Hey, little sshole!" Frank paces in circles with the receiver in his hands. "Watch your uckfing mouth before I have to come down there and introduce your face to your phone. And what the uckf do you know about having a real girlfriend, anyway, instead of a blow-up one?" Then he slams the phone down so hard that it jingles.

Just as Frank's initial rage burns off, Rachel and Fletcher return. Frank hustles Rachel into his bedroom and they have an animated conversation about Sy and the loose reign he's been given to spin stories for the past month. Fletcher listens to the muffled sounds of their voices, watching Frank's bedroom door. Sometimes Frank sounds so sharp Fletcher thinks the door will shake, maybe from Frank pounding his fist into it.

But Frank doesn't do that. Rachel hasn't been reduced to tears or cursing, and after about 20 minutes he can hear his mother's soothing melodious speaking voice fill the room instead of Frank's controlled barking. Fletcher creeps to the door and puts his ear up against it.

From inside the room, Frank and Racehl are totally unaware of Fletcher listening to their fight. It hasn't dawned on them just yet that their relationship has taken a body blow from outsiders.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. I lost it, and I'm sorry."

"Well, at least nobody's face was pounded this time," Rachel says, holding onto his arm.

"It's just that my life made sense before …"

"Before me and my craziness invaded it?"

"That's not what I meant, Rachel. I was just hoping things wouldn't turn out like this in the end, that's all."

There is an uncomfortable pause, until Frank speaks again.

"There's something I need to tell you. Maybe we can talk about it after dinner. At your house, where I know the cameras?"

"Um, sure Frank. If that's what you want to do." There is another pause, then Rachel's light swishing footsteps approach the door. Fletcher runs to the kitchen, pretending to look through the fridge for a snack.

* * *

Later that evening, lights illuminate the upper floors of Rachel's mansion. Frank is sitting on the floor of her room, pulling two hardcover books out of his backpack, which he tosses into a corner after emptying it. There is a pleasant fire in the hearth, and Frank jabs at the logs with a poker to stir up the flame. Rachel enters the room, and then heads to her bathroom where, after a few minutes and several intervals of water rushing from the taps and Rachel humming, Frank thinks her evening grooming is taking unnecessarily long.

Finally, she crosses the room and sits next to him, folding her slim limbs into a ball and leaning on Frank. He asks if Fletcher went off to bed all right, and she nods. Then Rachel asks a question that churns up a chill in the air between them.

"What are those books for, Frank?

"They concern my next security project, which I've accepted …" Frank reaches over for one of the books, and Rachel realizes she has no idea who the Asian gentleman is on the inside jacket.

"… and which is taking me to China."

And the coldness settles on Rachel's shoulder.

"You're not serious. You can't go back to guarding, anyway, because your arm and that whole area isn't healed, and you're not done with physical therapy."

"I am serious, Rachel," Frank opens the book in his hand, which Rachel isn't remotely interested in. "A week ago I got a call from an old client. He's a board member of a foundation sponsoring this guy's trip to China. Actually, I should say trip _back to_ China. He left 12 years ago after going through some crazy hardships, Rachel. He was actually a business man who had some kind of soul-stirring experience. He saw some of his peers get arrested, heard about beatings, imprisonments and such. Torture. Over women's rights, of all things! He just couldn't handle what he was seeing from the sidelines, and he got involved."

Frank speaks passionately, touching Rachel and pointing out passages that he's highlighted. Frank's words hit her like a tidal wave, and she begins to lose her footing, and feel her head spin.

"I've read two of his four books. He snuck the early manuscripts out of the country to the Stanford University press, and when the books hit the market, the government put a hit out on him," Frank says. "That's what forced him to leave."

"And how do _we _figure into this?" Rachel asks with more selfishness than she intended, but she can't help thinking about the hardships that await her after Frank leaves.

"He's going back, as an American citizen. But old grudges are alive and well, Rachel. He'll be there for six months, starting in a month."

"Well, you can't go then," Rachel sits up and faces Frank, trying to plead with him. "You said you would come to New York with me while I audition for that musical."

"Rachel, my part of the assignment starts a couple weeks after the doctors expect to give me medical clearance," Frank says. "I'll finish my therapy here, get de-briefed and I'll leave for China after that whole period is over."

"So you're protecting him. Keeping him safe so he can be with _his_ family?!" Rachel shakes her head and covers her face wit her hand. "When did all this happen, Frank? Behind my back while I was nursing you all those weeks ago?"

"Look, I'm grateful for the way you put your life on hold for me, I am!" Frank grabs Rachel's arm and pulls her closer. "That means the world to me, Rachel. My father was really impressed. You went from making weird rice to roasting chickens and broiling ribs. We've both come a long, long way, Rachel."

"This is a heap of bullshit, Frank!" Rachel tries to move away from Frank, but he pulls her back.

"No! For once, we're not going to fight our way through this one," Frank says. "I don't want to remember these last few weeks like this, do you?"

"I don't care!"

"I know that's not true," Frank says. "Rachel, I see how amazing you are. I know deep down you care. But we both know we are living in a cocoon, and sooner or later, we have to come out of it."

"I don't understand why it has to BE YOU!" Rachel stood up now, and pulled her satin robe tighter around her body. But she doesn't tie it, so it hangs open around her and leaves her exposed to the nippy night air. "You're, you're not OK yet, Frank. And you still won't even let me ..."

Frank brings his finger to his lips, pleading for her to be quiet.

"Rachel, please don't upset yourself. Come on! The things that this guy are fighting for are worth me giving up a few little comforts to help protect him."

"I don't want to hear anymore of this!" Rachel twists her arm out of Frank's grip and rushes toward the door. "I'm sleeping in Nikki's room. Don't follow me!"

Moments later, Rachel locks herself in her sister's old room and stares ahead until her eyes adjust to the dark. She has instructed the staff not to let the room deteriorate, so there are new sheets on the bed and fresh flowers in the vases. It's welcoming, but not warm, because no one has lit a fire for a room that no one uses.

Rachel pulls the throw off of the end of the bed, and lets it sit loosely on her shoulders. She sits at Nikki's desk and clicks on the soft lighting of the table lamp. She starts complaining to her sister about the conversation she just had with Frank, verbosely explaining every detail of the encounter.

"I was such a fool, Nikki," Rachel says, playing with one of the Gerber daisy petals in the arrangement on the desk. "I'm not good enough for this guy. He's going off to protect a saint. Or some other bullshit. Either way, he's leaving so he doesn't have to put up with a bunch of empty, superficial people all day or reporters asking him questions about his pop tart girlfriend."

Rachel quietly cries herself to sleep on Nikki's desk, until hours later she feels the gentleness of two hands pulling the soft throw up around her neck, and smoothing it down over her shoulders.

Soon after that, an urgent rattling at the door wakes her up. She hears keys in the lock and feels a rush of air and light fill the room as Frank rushes in.

He walks over to her and gently moves her to sit up.

"Rachel, wake up! Wake up! Are you alright?!"

Frank hugs Rachel and rubs her head, but she's still a bit groggy and disoriented.

"What's the matter, Frank?"

"I couldn't sleep after our … our talk. So I went out onto the balcony to get some air. I looked into this room through that thin curtain," Frank's voice is shaken. "And I saw someone stand over you from behind and put their hands around your throat, Rachel. I swear I saw it. Oh my God!"

Rachel still can't make any sense out of what Frank is saying, because he keeps interrupting his own words to kiss her. Plus she can't understand how anyone would have gotten through a locked door without the keys Frank had. But she doesn't protest at all as he pulls her up and hurries her out of the room, leaving the throw laying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

* * *

Frank, Rachel and Fletcher spend the next few weeks together awkwardly. The adults know that the happy little unit will soon split up, but Fletcher is still unaware. Rachel decides to tell him gradually, perhaps after Frank is gone. It's mainly out of her own fears over what he'll say and how he'll react.

_Finally, we have the scene at the airport, with that dizzying tarmac kiss. It was pretty much perfect, but I can't resist wondering what Frank and Rachel say to each other after that last kiss:_

"You'll be alright, Rachel. You're one of a kind. You'll figure out how to live without me," Frank says, watching her eyes and lips.

"Frank, that's absurd. I only really came alive after you walked into my mansion telling me how to live," Rachel says. "And I don't want to be 'alright.' I want to thrive."

Frank repeats to Rachel that she'll be alright, and they kiss again, slower and deeper than before. From inside the airplane, Fletcher is watching all of this with mild curiosity.

"I don't know why they're so sad," Fletcher says, turning to Bill. "Frank won't leave us. He never has, never will. He wants to kiss her and marry her, and he hasn't married her yet so there's stuff left to do."

Bill smiles skeptically knowing things are never that simple between complicated adults. And he's never met two people more complicated than Frank Farmer and Rachel Marron.


	10. Epilogue: Fearless

**Hi shippers/readers. I've heard each and every one of your comments about another chapter in 'Becoming Rachel Farmer' Well, I hope you could tell from the title of this series that I'm rooting for them, too! LOL. So let's get to reading. I call this one 'Fearless.'**

* * *

_Somewhere in a forested, mountainous area of China, a little over six months after Frank and Rachel have broken up … _

Rachel hasn't prayed this hard in years. This is a more urgent plea than when her labor pains with Fletcher hit full throttle and filled her with confused terror, a more desperate supplication than the morning she and Nikki sat by the phone awaiting news of their missing parents, who failed to check in as planned during a road trip to Scottsdale.

_How in the world could I let him make love to me like this again? Why did I even answer his note? I know how this is going to end; there are always tears! Please God! I need to be strong against this man! I can't take another hit. _

She curled her body tighter, pulling the sleeping bag around her, and gazed at the ridges of the dome tent that she had shared with Frank the night before. A spider, a grasshopper, and an inchworm crept through the very top. Dry pine needles rain down on the outside, sounding like sprays of rainwater ahead of a storm.

That's when Rachel heard Frank's boots approach the tent. Her heart raced at the sound of him pulling them off, one by one, and resting them just outside. Her palms sweat as he unzips the flap and steps inside.

* * *

A few days earlier, Rachel is strutting down a long hallway. Two bodyguards, a personal assistant, and a Chinese translator surround her. She stretches her neck and pulls off a pair of gold gloves, handing them to the assistant. Then she pushes the hood of a lush terrycloth robe back off of her head. They stop at the double-door entrance to a suite, and the assistant lets them in.

The room is large, airy and gleams with modern updates on Eastern décor. It's night and the drapes are wide open, showing off the twinkling lights of downtown Shanghai. Once inside, Rachel and her assistant break away from the rest of the entourage. Bill picks up a large white envelope and hands it to Rachel.

"Something for you, Rachel. How was the show?"

"I did my best. Knocked 'em dead as usual."

Rachel opens the envelope and loosens her robe. She pulls out a plain card with an elaborate hand-drawn cover. It depicts the statue of a woman in a long skirt holding a bowl over her head.

_Hi Rachel. I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to read another note in your life. But I promise this one has your happiness in mind, especially if you can guess what the lady on the cover is all about. Frank. _

Rachel closes the card and examines the front intently for several minutes. Then she turns the card to get a closer look at the corner. It's signed F Farmer.

"Bill, do you know what this is all about? And did Frank draw this?"

"I don't know anything about the picture, Rachel. He wants you to figure it out on your own. But yeah, he told me what was basically in the envelope, and that he drew that picture on the front."

"He gave me homework, Bill?"

"Not just homework. There's also an invitation to go camping."

Rachel raises her eyebrows and scoffs.

"Me? Camping?"

* * *

As Frank steps inside the tent, Rachel begrudgingly stretches her legs into the colder half of the sleeping bag and waits for him to climb in.

"Hurry up, you!" She says. "Mornings are still cool out here."

"Sorry!" Frank slides into the bag and turns toward Rachel, pulling her close. Frank presses his face into the side of Rachel's neck and begins to kiss her slowly and sweetly. "What do you think about camping so far?"

"I love it. People don't bother you for any reason. Some of the boots are cute. And if you hiss at beavers hard enough, they will back down," Rachel says between breaths. Frank pulls back.

"You're going around rural China confronting forest animals now? I would think your last concert was enough of a hell-raising experience. Haven't you started enough trouble at their arenas?"

"That wasn't any trouble I couldn't handle. Boys always try to get on stage and French me."

"How do you know that's what he wanted?"

"I could just tell. And the crowd loved it when I pushed him back. You have to give them their money's worth, Frank."

Frank laughs and tells Rachel to remind him to track down that kid and kick his ss later.

"Did you figure out what the drawing meant?" He asks, between kisses.

"No, I haven't. I asked the useless staff at my management company, including my new publicist. Bill wouldn't help me either. And I know he knows. He got a bachelors' in anthropology before getting his MBA," Rachel pushes Frank back to rant a little. "I hate it when smart people keep it all to themselves."

"What about beautiful people, Rachel? You keep a lot of your trade secrets to yourself," But then seeing Rachel's hair tussled around her fresh-faced country beauty again makes him lose his train of thought. Frank moves his hands lower down Rachel's body, then kisses her harder and rolls her on her back.

A little while later, Frank and Rachel are standing up and pulling on basic clothes before heading outside to make breakfast.

"We have to break camp today. It was only going to be an overnighter, right? Because we both have to leave the country in a couple of days. Go our separate ways?"

Disappointment surges through Rachel. Shit! He did it again! She vows inwardly to sit down and write a song about why she repeatedly falls for his constant hitting it and quitting it. The thing is, Rachel thinks, she can't inwardly or outwardly vow to swear of Frank for good. They're both firebrands who often clash, and he smiles at her as if he couldn't care less if she smiles back. But he's always such a considerate and thorough lover. If only he could bring that bedside manner, as it were, out into the open as a boyfriend.

"I guess we do have to face that. Again," Rachel says, finding her socks.

"Yeah. Well, look let's not think about it for the next few hours. We can just enjoy the place and then pack up and get going."

"Sure, Frank. Not a problem."

They talk about Frank's assignment during a morning hike, until they come to a totally natural undeveloped hot spring. There, Rachel pulls off her boots and tests the water. Then she returns to her backpack, retrieves a huge block of French-milled soap and turns to Frank.

"Are they going to arrest me if I take my bath here?"

"I don't think so, Rachel. It's private property and a little dense forest back there. In fact, I'd bet if anyone sees you, they'll be selling tickets," Frank laughs. And then he has the nerve to wink one of his hot- ss blue eyes at her.

Soon Rachel is undressed and waist-deep in the water, which is very comfortable. She has her back toward Frank, who is sitting on a rock with a sketchbook casually drawing her. He holds it up to get it closer to some light coming through the trees.

Rachel suddenly turns to face Frank, saying:

"I need help with my hair!"

Frank looks down and fumbles his book, before saving it from falling.

"Sorry," Rachel says, and holds the soap out to him.

Frank undresses except for his shorts, then walks down to the edge of the water and slides in. But he doesn't walk too far away from the edge. Instead, he waves Rachel over and she is standing in front of him instantly.

She hands him the soap and he uses it to lather her hair. Rachel's hair has grown almost past her shoulders since he last saw her, so he ends up gathering the strands and twisting them like a rope around his hand.

"You want to rinse it out, or should I?"

Rachel ignores every protective instinct, every smart-girl rule, and puts more of herself in Frank's hands.

"Go ahead. I trust you," she shrugs.

So Frank guides her close to the bank, where he sits down. Luckily, there is a huge rock between his feet, where Rachel sits down, with her back to him. Then he lowers her hair into the water between his knees.

Frank rinses her hair, at first forcing himself to watch her face most of the time, and not let his eyes travel past her throat.

"Are you going to tell me about that picture you drew for me?" Rachel asks looking at him. His blunt fingertips are heaven on her scalp.

Frank smiles very broadly, thinking about the artifact, and then feeling entitled, he looks entirely at Rachel stretched in front of him in the water. But he doesn't answer her.

"Or is this going to be another Brooding Frank Farmer Mystery?"

Frank doesn't answer that right away, either, just tell Rachel that she's done. So she sits up and stretches her back side to side.

"Yeah, Rachel. I'll tell you in a couple of hours, back at the cabin," then he holds her close for a few long, firm kisses and lays her on the smooth bank of the water. Rachel starts thinking of song lyrics.

At the cabin, Rachel sits at a table pouring herself a little more wine after lunch. Their bags are packed and piled neatly near the door. Frank is over there rifling through one until he pulls out a rectangular box.

"Here it is," he smiles and walks it over to the table. "I'll get right to the point, because we don't have all the time in the world, and my New Year's resolution is to stop lecturing you."

Rachel smiles and raises her eyebrows at him.

"This is an old German artifact. The Nuremburg bridal cup. It actually belonged to my maternal grandmother when she emigrated here from … somewhere north, outside of Munich. And there's a story."

"Is it a love story?"

"Oh yeah, and the very best one," Frank says. As he speaks, Frank undoes the box and slides a gleaming chalice out of its packing. It looks exactly like the image that was on the front of the card he sent Rachel.

"There was a wealthy, powerful nobleman who had a beautiful daughter, and she fell in love with a smart, ambitious goldsmith. He wasn't one of these lordly ssholes who thought they were God's gift to the girl, you know?"

Rachel nods and giggles.

"The nobleman didn't like it at all, so he throws the young goldsmith into prison, which sends the girl into some starving, waifish un-Rachel-like tailspin of grief," Franks smiles.

"Yeah, you know I would have had words with Mr. Marron if he tried to throw you into prison," Rachel wags her finger at Frank. "Continue."

"He can't stand to see his daughter waste away. So he goes to the guy and makes a deal. He says 'if you can design a chalice that two people can drink from at the _same time_ and not spill any wine at all, then you can marry my daughter,'" Frank says.

"Wow, Frank!" Rachel fiddles with the bowl, which swing from two pivots that the woman is holding over her head. Then Rachel picks up the whole thing and realizes that the upside down skirt is actually the second and deepest part of the double chalice.

"Should we try it? If we get it right, this piece of my family history is yours, Rachel. Forever, and I promise that."

"Mine? But don't you want to save it for a cousin or someone?"

"I want someone I really, deeply respect to have it. Let's try it out!"

Frank grabs the chalice and brings it to the sink to rinse it. He comes back to the table and positions it so that the long goblet is for him and the bowl is for Rachel. Then he pours wine into both sections, and stands in front of Rachel. She'll take the lower chalice.

"Now remember, if we spill, the deal is off," Frank says. "I go to oblivion and you live in your gilded palace in Hollywood Hills with some rich, educated asshole that your siddity New Jersey cousins find for you, OK?"

Rachel laughs and frowns a little at the comparison. They start to drink. Frank watches as Rachel carefully purses her lips over the rim of her bowl and carefully takes down the wine. After she turns the bowl almost upside down, she starts to blink furiously. She catches something in her mouth and stands up.

Frank finishes his, and sets the chalice down on a plate.

"I didn't spill any, did you?" Rachel shakes her head no. And then she pulls a ring out of her mouth. It's a stunner. A sizeable princess-cut ruby flanked by two equal carat weight diamonds, also princess cut. They are set in what could be 14k white gold with a half eternity band of diamonds.

Rachel can't speak for a few moments. Her smile is too wide, and a huge, booming laugh is about to erupt from her chest.

"Frank! Frank! Is this what I think it is?!"

"If you're thinking that I want to marry you, then yes. That's what it is," Frank says. He takes the ring from Rachel and lifts her to sit on the table. Rachel's so excited that she almost misses the proposal.

"Rachel, I usually have everything about my life figured out," Frank says. "Except for this. The only thing I know about a future with you is that you're an incredible lady."

"Have you figured out that I love you? And every time you leave I die a little?"

"I'll try to put a stop to that, I promise," Frank says. "So do you want to get married, Rachel?"

"YES, I DO, Frank!"

"Do you want to come up with a system? And help me figure out how all this is going to work?"

"Hell yes, Frank!"

Frank slides the ring onto Rachel's finger and it fits. He heaves a sigh of relief. But he barely finishes that before Rachel is kissing him hungrily.

"Frank, how much time do we … ?"

"Eighty-two minutes. Seventy, really, before they come get our bags," Frank scoops up Rachel and races upstairs with her.

Forty-five minutes later, Rachel and Frank are wrapped in a tangle of sheets and sitting up facing each other. The rapidly approaching noon sun, coming through thin curtains, softly lights the room. They still can't stop kissing, but they are doing so tenderly now. Reluctantly, Rachel breaks away first.

"OK, Frank. I have to ask what triggered this transformation," Rachel says. She wraps her legs around his waist and rests her head on his chest. "I'm not sorry that it happened, believe me! I just want to know how you went from 'it won't work' to 'we've got to try.'"

"It was coming on pretty gradually until one day the security team and the main guys, you know, were all sitting around talking about this and that. I can understand some Mandarin, a little Cantonese, but the conversation was mainly in English."

"Wow. You draw and you're multi-lingual, too?"

"I used to have a lot of time on my hands, Rachel. Anyway, they talked about politics, travel, all the high-falutin' stuff you expect guys like them to discuss. And then they start talking about love. And they get all excited about the subject. They talk about all the things they do for the love of their wives, children, siblings and parents. And even the love they have for friends, Rachel!"

"Yeah, everyone should experience love in one way or another. Love is the food of life."

"And then one of them says, 'to fear love is to fear life!' That's when it hit me. I've been all over the world and protected all sorts of important people. Trekked through jungles, been on boats, been stabbed and shot. Well, I'm not afraid of anything, Rachel. But I realized I was running away from you, and for no reason." Frank holds Rachel by the shoulders and shakes her gently, not to scold her, but to convey how the moment impacted him.

"That's great news, because you don't scare me either," Rachel says, pushing a lock of hair away from her forehead.

"You're the only woman who could crush me into a million pieces, Rachel," Frank says. "But I doubt that will happen. We'll just have to make sure it doesn't."

Finally, a little while later, a black SUV is waiting outside the cabin as assistants place several matching pieces of upscale overnight luggage into the trunk. Frank emerges from the doorway of the cabin carrying one more bag that goes with the set. Rachel is wrapped around him tightly, slowing his gait a little. She ignores his pleas to let go and walk, and stays clamped around his body until he relents and crawls inside the backseat with her.

"Rachel, this is hardly the way to keep our engagement a secret until we tell Fletcher and my father," Frank says, leaning into the seat and prying her arms off of his neck.

"But I hate letting you go!" Rachel sighs as Frank straps her in. "And I don't care if it's not the nineties, bad-ass woman thing to say. It will be _ages _before we're back in L.A."

"More like four days, Rachel," Frank says, checking the belt and looking around the car. "You take care of that very expensive ring, but keep it out of sight. We'll figure out the rest later."


End file.
